Laboratory Chefs (ON HOLD - SO SORRY!)
by EatSleepReadWriteRepeat
Summary: Cammie is the new girl in town and moves right next to a certain Zachary Goode. She gets a job in the diner his family owns, but soon realises her culinary skills stop at soup. After a few awkward events, they come to an agreement: chemistry tutoring for cooking lessons - no more, no less. Throw in a beautiful ex, another cute crush and Zach's smirks... What could go wrong?
1. First Encounters

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to Ally Carter, except my own.**

* * *

 **First Encounters**

"Last one!" I shout. I heave the box off the back of the delivery truck and stagger towards the front porch, waving my arm at my father so he can come and help me. What did I _put_ in here? I carefully try to balance the box on my knee and lift the lid to check, swaying dangerously to the side while doing so. Bottles upon bottles of oil paints and acrylics are lined up and piled on top of each other, and I also seem to have stuffed a few mini canvases and palettes in there too. That makes sense.

I drop the box on the steps leading up to our new front doors and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, collapsing in a heap in the cool shade of the porch. The sun is beating down relentlessly and although it's a gorgeous day, with endless blue skies and not a cloud in sight, I can't seem to appreciate it. It's way too hot to be doing anything outside, especially for someone as unaccustomed to heat as I am, and I find myself wistfully wishing for the cool summers we had back in Detroit.

Once I'm done cooling off, I drag myself up and push open the heavy mahogany doors. It feels weird looking at the polished brass handle and the matching number sign, knowing I live here now. Everything here in Roseville is so… foreign, and not just the weather. I don't know anyone here, and I'm going to be alone in this unnecessarily huge house for a few months while mom and dad go back to Detroit to finish off some business before moving here properly. What will I do on my own? What will the school be like? Will I even make any friends? I caught a glimpse of my new school on our way here, a huge imposing building of red brick and tall windows, and I felt a small niggle of fear in my stomach before pushing it down and forgetting my worries in a bag of M&Ms.

I step inside and relish the feel of the air conditioning on my sweaty, probably very red face. I can hear mom moving around in the kitchen and hurry towards the sound, hoping for some sort of drink. However, I seem to take a wrong turning and end up in a huge dining room, filled with bits of chairs wrapped in plastic, a half made table and a large mirror covered in bubble wrap. I resist the urge to pop the bubbles – which proves to be disconcertingly difficult – and retrace my steps. I finally find the kitchen and spot mom stood behind the granite counter, pouring a large jug of orange juice. I catch the unmistakeable sound of ice cubes clinking and practically fly over, grabbing a glass and chugging the icy cold liquid.

"Bit thirsty, were we?" My mom raises an eyebrow.

I smile sheepishly and place the glass back in the tray, and she shakes her head and smiles. Dad strolls through the kitchen doors looking a bit flustered and helps himself to a glass.

"Well, that's the last of them. We'd better get going, Rachel, if we want to get back in time for the next meeting."

"You're going already?" My face falls and I sigh.

"Sorry, Cam. You know we'd move right now if we could, but we need to sort some stuff out and we didn't want you to miss the first few weeks of school. We want you to settle in." Dad ruffles my hair apologetically.

"Yeah. I know."

"We'll be done really soon, by Christmas, definitely."

"Christmas isn't 'really soon', Mom."

"Oh, Cammie. We are sorry. We'll even call you every day if you want," she says innocently.

"Absolutely not!" I say incredulously. "Once a few days is plenty."

Dad laughs at me and I swat his arm.

"Don't you laugh at me, Daddy."

He holds his hands up in surrender and places the glass back on the tray, grabbing his car keys, while mom starts washing up the glasses. They tell me that somebody will be round later this week to help assemble the furniture, an Adam Jones, so I had better make sure I open the door for him.

"Also, remember to make friends with the neighbours. Mrs Goode next door has a boy your age, so it'd be nice to get to know someone in your year before school starts."

"Okay, okay."

She looks at me guiltily. "You'll be alright? I feel terrible leaving you here like this. But I mean, you are seventeen years old - "

"Almost eighteen."

She rolls her eyes. "You're seventeen and perfectly capable of looking after yourself, and there's always the neighbours if you need any help, and Dad and I are only a phone call away."

"Mom. I'll be _fine_." I give her a hug and gently push her out the door, giving Dad a kiss on the cheek before he also hurries out. I watch them climb into the car, my slightly scatter brained father and my only marginally better mother. Dad starts the engine of his beloved red Lamborghini but Mom sticks her head out at the last minute.

"And _don't forget_ about your job at the local diner! Your first shift is on Friday!"

"I _know_ , Mom!"

xxxxx

My parents, thank goodness, had already installed the Wi-Fi beforehand, so I decide to revisit my wonderful friend Netflix. I make myself some popcorn from the corn I had stuffed in my box of books (my secret stash of room food had to be bought over somehow) and settle on binge watching Game of Thrones.

After a few hours, it starts to get dark, so I say goodbye to Jon and Tyrion and realise I should probably eat something. I make myself some beans on toast, yawning, and take it up with me, eating it on the way to my new room. I climb up the marble staircase sluggishly, trailing my hand on the smooth golden bannister, alone in this empty house. They told me my room was the first one on the right. Pushing the door open cautiously, I go inside. It's massive, with lilac walls and a huge white metal bed in the middle, and oak panelled floors. On one side is a mirrored wardrobe spanning the length of the wall, and on the opposite side, a bookshelf and a large window. Thankfully, there is plenty of space for my easels and canvases, and my desk should fit nicely under the bookshelf.

I walk to the window, depositing my plate on the floor on the way. I'm expecting a pretty view, but all I'm met with is a big, leafy tree and a window from the house next door. I can see into the room opposite – it's surprisingly close, and the blinds are open, the window pushed up. If I could climb trees, I'd be able to swing across and land on the ledge like a female Tarzan or something.

I start to draw the curtains but before I can tug them fully closed, a movement in the room catches my eye. A shaft of light falls on the bed and somebody appears through the door, throwing something on the bed. They turn the light switch on and I instantly see that it's a boy, but he's turned away from me so I can't see his face. He's wearing a fitted white t-shirt and black jeans, and from what I can see, he definitely works out. He places something on the desk and opens his wardrobe, rifling through mounds of clothes before shaking his head. He goes out of my line of sight for a few seconds and then returns with some boxer shorts, which he promptly drops on the floor. What is he… _oh_.

He reaches for the bottom of his t-shirt and pulls it up, away from his body and up over his head, slowly, as if he knows I'm there. The muscles in his tanned shoulders and back ripple as he moves, and I feel my face heat up – what am I even doing? He runs a hand through his dark, tousled hair, shaking it out like some model. I should move, of course I should. But I can't, and I'm stuck behind my curtain, all of me hidden except from my face, peering out like a kid playing hide-and-seek.

He balls up the shirt and disappears again for a few seconds, returning without it. He starts to reach for the buckle of his belt. I know what he's going to do now, and I panic. Panic is the only rational thing that can explain what I do next.

"Stop!" I shout.

Startled, the boy turns around. He looks around for a few seconds, seemingly confused, before spotting me, wrapped up in the curtains. His eyes widen as he takes me in. He has eyes so green I can make out their colour from here, with high cheekbones and a jawline that would probably cut me if I touched it. His messy dark hair curls slightly around his ears and onto his forehead, making this otherwise too hot to handle boy look endearingly cute.

It's like time stands still – we are both totally frozen, neither of us moving. I'm shamelessly staring at him, and I'm pretty sure he can tell.

So of course, I make it worse.

I move away from the window but I seem to have forgotten that I'm practically cocooned in the wretched curtains, so instead of freeing myself from his stare and the now stifling cloth, I manage to get myself more tangled. I step backwards and my foot lands on the fabric, hard, and I overbalance.

I fall backwards.

I hear a mighty clang and see the curtain yanked off its rail, and it's like everything happens in slow motion. I catch sight of the boy still staring at me, his face equal parts confused, amused and slightly scared, and before I land, I see a tiny smirk curving his lips - only one truck-rhyming word appears repeatedly in my head. I land in a heap on the floor, and the curtain falls on top of me in a puff of dust, a jarring pain registering in my butt.

"Why?" I whisper quietly, looking up as if expecting some sort of answer.

I slowly untangle myself from the carnage and crawl towards the window, crouching down so my head doesn't appear above the ledge. Is he still there? I carefully lift my head and peer out. Yep. Still there. He's even more amused now, and I hear a small chuckle. A throaty, deep, chocolatey chuckle. He's still looking at me, still shirtless, and leaning out of his window. I think by now, my face must resemble a tomato.

"Well, hey there. No need to be shy," he calls, amusement clear in his voice.

I yank my head back down and sit there, banging my head back on the wall. My face is warmer than it was when I was lugging heavy boxes around earlier, and I'm so embarrassed I don't think I can even get up yet.

He realises I'm not going to reply, and carries on.

"Don't worry," he whispers conspiratorially. "I won't tell anyone what happened." He gives another chuckle. I hear the window close and the light goes off after few minutes, and I close my eyes in complete and utter mortification.

* * *

 **A/N I am officially back! I have decided to start afresh with a new story. This will be my new main focus, especially as it's summer and I have more time. Thank you for reading this chapter! What did you think? Is it worth carrying on with? And by the way, this story is going to be shamelessly cliché, sorry not sorry. Next chapter will show Cammie meeting Adam the (Cute) Furniture Guy ;)**

 **Please review, favourite and follow! I'm going to try to reply to each review in this story, so in later chapters (hopefully) this will be where I do it :)**


	2. Captain America PJs

**Captain America PJ's**

 _Ding-dong._

 _Ding-dong._

I shoot upright, bleary eyed and groggy.

"Wassgoinon?" I mumble, rubbing my eyes.

 _Ding-dong._

It takes me a good two minutes to realise that the sound which invaded my sleep was in fact the doorbell. I glance at the clock on my nightstand before climbing out of bed doggedly. It's 11:43am – who could it be? I pull on my night gown to cover up my worn, slightly holey and oversized Captain America pyjamas, and slip on my fluffy bunny slippers. I take one look at myself in the massive wardrobe mirror and cringe at the dirty blonde nest I call my hair, before grabbing a bobble and yanking it up into some form of bun.

 _Ding-dong._

"Coming, coming! Jeez."

I hurry to the door, grabbing the keys hooked on a peg in the corridor. I peer through the eyehole to see who it is, and find a guy around my age. He's facing away from me, and seems to be communicating with someone. He has a toolbox in one hand, the other constantly running through his slightly shaggy, sandy blond hair. His torn flannel shirt is so big it almost reaches his knees, wafting around his paint-splattered jeans like a tent, and his hair is sticking up all over the place because of his non-stop hair messing. I remember my mother saying something about a builder or someone coming over to put together the rest of the furniture, but I wasn't expecting someone until at least the weekend and definitely not someone my age.

As I peek up at him, he angrily lifts the hand holding his toolbox and waves it around in a heated gesture. He moves slightly to the side while doing so and I spot a truck parked at the bottom of my drive, with _Jones & Son_ printed on the side. The beefy, ruddy-faced driver is motioning at the guy on my porch with equally heated hand movements, and I blush as I realise my slowness is causing them to argue.

I can't remember his name but I'm pretty sure this is the guy my mom was talking about, so I shrug and open the door for him – or try to, anyway. The key doesn't seem to want to go in, and I find that there is some sort of chain bolting it closed on top of that. Great. Now he's going to think I can't be bothered to open the door. I squint through the eyehole again only to see that the guy is shaking his head irately at the driver and is stepping off the porch and down the path. Damn it.

"No! Hey! _Wait_ …"

I bang on the door and when he doesn't turn (which means there's a high chance he's deaf because hello, my hands are all pink I was knocking on the door so hard) I run to the window next to it and rap my knuckles on the cool glass. His head snaps around like a little dog that's smelled a treat and I snort loudly, before he swivels around and my laughter dies in my throat.

Great. This is just _great_.

Any more hot guys I should know about? My neighbour, my builder guy, what next? My teacher? I feel myself getting flustered and mentally slap myself. _Get a grip, woman_.

He looks at me for a second and I see a faint pink colour tinge his (perfect) cheeks, and his fingers fumble around the toolbox for a second. I feel a jolt of surprise – did he fumble because of me? I suddenly realise that I'm wearing the oldest pyjamas I own, and that my hair is a complete mess, and my own cheeks colour in response.

I try not to ogle as he walks back up towards me. He calls over his shoulder at the driver, who rolls his eyes and drives away, probably to park somewhere down the road. As he walks back to the porch, I take a moment to admire him. Straight nose, tanned skin, obvious muscle beneath the billowing shirt; his hair reflects the sunlight and absorbs it at the same time, causing the strands to practically shimmer gold – not in a glittery vampire fairy way, mind you. His black Ray-Ban glasses make him look absolutely adorable, and he keeps pushing them up his nose, as if he's a little nervous. I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

I hold up my finger as he approaches and he pauses, looking at me questioningly. I shake my head quickly and beckon him towards the window, and I quickly manage to unlock it and slide it up. I stand on my tiptoes and wait for him to come over, and he stops right in front of me, bending down to put the toolbox on the ground and then standing and looking at me, his eyebrow furrowed in confusion.

"Hey. I mean h-hi, hello," I say hurriedly. _Hey_?

He chuckles, a deep baritone sound which warms my toes.

"Hello," he smiles. "I'm here to put together some furniture and sort some stuff out for Mr and Mrs Morgan?"

"I'm Cammie." My smile freezes in horror. Why did I do that? _Why_ did I do that?

"Nice to meet you, Cammie. I'm Adam." He chuckles again, bemused.

"I-I mean yeah, they're my parents, but they aren't here at the moment, it's just me, just me and you today."

"Okay, that's alright. Now, can you tell me…?" He leans forward slowly. "How come we're talking at the window?" He whispers this, eyes twinkling.

"Oh! Oh yeah." I laugh weakly. What kind of moron does he think I am now? "The thing is: I can't seem to get the key in the lock. I think it's blocked up or something. And I'm so sorry about the wait, I was, uh, asleep, and I didn't know I was expecting you…"

"Nah, don't worry about it. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"How long were you… waiting? And what's with your driver? He seemed a little irritated." I bite my lip, suddenly awkward.

"Not that long," he smiles, and I know that he's lying. "And him, ha. He's just annoyed he had to work on a Thursday because it's normally his day off. But I sent him back anyway, I'm sure I can do you myself. Just need my toolbox." He nudges the box with his foot.

"Uh…" I smile uncertainly and he blanches, realising what he said and what it sounded like.

"Wait, no! Not like that! I didn't mean do _you_! I meant… your job, you know… the furniture…" He trails off, going pink and pushing his glasses up his nose. I giggle.

"I know what you meant, Adam." I smile at him, trying out his name on my tongue. He shakes his head in embarrassment and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Let me try the door again," I say, changing the subject. He looks at me gratefully and I tell him to wait there. I wiggle the key around for a good four minutes before it finally comes unstuck, and I open the door to let him in.

"Come on in."

He steps inside and I close the door behind me. I hear him mumble 'wow' and he makes to take off his dirty trainers, but I shake my head and wave him off.

"Don't worry about those."

I see him look at me sceptically but I raise my eyebrow and he shrugs, sliding them back on.

"Through here, all I need doing is the dining room: the table and chairs and that big cabinet, and do you think you could put up the mirror, too?" I ask hopefully.

"Sure thing," he smiles warmly. Opening his toolbox, he starts taking everything out and laying them on a cloth on the floor. I linger for a few seconds and he looks up, puzzled.

"Oh! I'll just, uh, go get dressed."

"Okay," he says, a little bemused. He pushes up his glasses and looks at the floor as I turn to go.

"Cammie?"

I stop and turn. "Mhm?"

"Nice... nice pyjamas."

xxxxx

I try not to let the fact that I have a boy in my house deter me from finding something to wear. I gather up my clothes and lay them on my bed before going to my bathroom for a quick shower, hopping over the mountains of half-unpacked boxes lying all over the floor. I let out a sigh of content as the hot, steaming water washes away the tiredness of the morning and I emerge from the shower in record time, wrapping a towel securely around me while steam clouds everywhere. I reach out to wipe the mirror, the squeaking sound shooting through my ears as I intently study the face staring back at me. Big, rather tired looking blue eyes, pale skin, slightly scraggly blonde hair. The longer I stare at my reflection, the worse my self-evaluation becomes - the few spots on my forehead become redder and larger, the dark circles beneath my eyes become more purple, more baggy. I shake my head, turning away. Looking too long at the mirror doesn't do anyone any good.

I walk out the bathroom and towards the clothes on my bed. Just as I'm about to drop the towel and change, however, I quickly look up. No way am I risking it.

I shuffle towards the window, tugging my towel up. Because I've broken the curtains, I have nothing shielding my room from… his. I grab the mound on the floor and carefully lift it, draping it over the half broken pole. It stays up and I breathe a sigh of relief. I might ask Adam if he can fix it for me. I blush at the thought of a boy in my room.

I get dressed at top speed. I pull on my t-shirt, emblazoned with the words 'Valar Morghulis', and my black skater skirt follows suit. I slip on my fluffy slippers again and put my hair back up into a messy bun because it's far too hot to leave it down, hoping he won't judge my obsession of all things nerdy. After a quick coat of mascara and a spritz of perfume, I'm ready to go back down.

I seriously can't believe I have a hot guy in my house. I'm finding it hard to come to terms with.

The sound of banging and drilling travels towards me as I go downstairs and when I go to the dining room I see him bent over the half-made table, hammering something in place. He's removed his glasses and is wearing safety goggles instead, and he's more than a little sweaty. He's taken off his flannel shirt to reveal a close-fitting white t-shirt underneath – what is it about white t-shirts?

"Hi," I give him a small wave.

I see his eyes travel up my body and I flush. Maybe wearing a skirt wasn't such a great idea. However, his eyes don't linger and they snap straight up to my own.

"Hey." He stands up, wipes his hands on a raggedy towel and then drags it across his forehead. He studies my face for a few seconds and looks a little pained. He finally speaks.

"Valar Dohaeris."

A smile spreads across my face. "You like Game of Thrones?" I ask excitedly.

"Who doesn't? It's one of the best freaking creations on this planet."

"Got that right," I laugh.

He pushes up his glasses. "Oh, uh… I'm almost done with the cabinet now. Took less time than I expected, actually. All I need to do is put the mirror up."

"Thanks," I smile. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Yeah, actually," he says gratefully. "That'd be perfect."

"Orange juice okay?"

"Great," he smiles.

"Be right back." I get him a glass of iced juice and he takes it, drinking it in two huge gulps.

"Thirsty?"

"A bit," he shrugs, a soft pink colour painting his cheeks again.

"Why don't you have a break? I'm sure the chairs won't miss you too much," I smile.

"Why not?" He sits on a clear piece of floor, taking off his safety goggles and putting his glasses back on, and I join him.

"So, when did you move? Are you going to Roseville High?

"I only got here yesterday, actually. And yeah, I'll be a senior. How about you? Do you go there?" I ask, hope blossoming in my chest.

"Yeah, I do." He doesn't sound too thrilled about it. "I'm going to be a senior this year too. So hey, classmate." He nudges my shoulder and I laugh.

"Is it… a nice school?"

He laughs.

"It isn't bad. But it's… how should I put it." He pauses and thinks. "The majority of people who go there are extremely rich." I shift uncomfortably. "And I don't have anything against that. But the students themselves… they're very _selective_ on who they're friends with. Basically, every other girl is a Regina George and every other boy is a bigger asshole than the one before."

"Perfect," I sigh.

"But obviously, you're not every other girl, and I'm not every other boy," he winks.

"Duh." I chuckle. "You've seen Mean Girls?" I ask teasingly.

He looks away, embarrassed, and goes to push his glasses up again. "Possibly."

"There's nothing wrong with that!" I smirk.

"Shut up."

I laugh at his pink face, suddenly thinking of something - or some _one_ \- to ask him about.

"Hey… do you know someone called Zach Goode?"

His smiles slides of his face. "Why?"

"Um… He lives next door. I don't know anything about him and my mom wanted me to 'make friends'." I laugh but he doesn't join me.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't make friends with _him._ He's a dick." He doesn't meet my eyes.

"Okay…" I say slowly. "Can I ask why?" For some reason I'm annoyed.

"He bullied me," he says shortly. "In middle school. He's not a good person - at least, he wasn't."

I look at him guiltily. "I'm sorry. Why did he do it? If you don't mind me asking, that is," I add hurriedly.

He pauses, sighing. Still avoiding my eyes, it takes a while for him to reply.

"Popular, sporty boys always make fun of the spotty, brace-mouthed nerd, Cammie. It seems to be a basic rule of high-school. What else would it be?" he says curtly.

I try to ignore his abrupt answer. "Huh. Well, I think it's stupid."

A somewhat forced laugh escapes his lips. "I don't care anymore, and he leaves me alone now... I'm still a nerd at heart, though, so don't you worry."

"We can be nerds together," I say jokingly, pretending to be relieved.

He rolls his eyes playfully. "Judging by your Captain America PJs, I don't doubt it."

* * *

 **A/N Hello! Wow, thank you for the amazing response on the first chapter! You were so positive and all the reviews were wonderful - it means so, so, so much.** **And aw, I love Adam! He's so adorable. What did you all think of his character? Please leave a review if you have time, and speculate all you will about Zach and Adam's 'history'.**

 **Next chapter will hopefully be up on Sunday or Monday as I'm going on holiday for a week on Tuesday. And that one will be about the diner ;)**

 **Now, time for the replies!**

* * *

 **foodislifeyo: Thank you, and yes, her luck really was quite unfortunate! More drama will be coming later on muhaha, and don't worry, there will be LOTS of Zach ;) I'm glad you like the plot and characters!**

 **fanficlover4602: Thank you :) and wow! Is this 'more' enough? :')**

 **OhNobody: It's so relieving that you found it funny as I was worried it wasn't funny enough and I was the only person who found it funny or something :') and I hope this is a good update for you!**

 **Sarah: Thank you so so much xx and you're welcome! Your review made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside :) I'm so glad you liked it, and it does feel nice to be loved ;) love ya too, darling.**

 **CammieBishop: I will most certainly continue :)**

 **lovewords: You are way too nice, I'm blushing xx And I doubt anything could be as embarrassing as Cammie's little move there :') I hope this chapter is soon enough and thank goodness Zach was squealable! Hurry though, before he sees ya spyin through his bedroom window...**

 **Guest: Glad you liked it!**

 **TiggerMorgan: That's such a lovely thing to say! Thank you! It's not often my writing is called flawless :) And the pleasure is mine.**

 **Guest: Thank you! I hope this one was worth waiting for...**

 **BooksLover2000: Lul indeed.**


	3. Teriyaki Ribeye Steak

**Teriyaki Ribeye Steak**

The ' _Roseville Diner'_ sign flashes red and white, little round bulbs outlining each letter. It's a typical fifties diner, complete with red leather seated booths and a tiled floors. I can see that it's already buzzing with people, and the smooth sound of old Frank Sinatra music floats through the air as I approach it.

I open the heavy glass door in trepidation, pulling my bag through quickly behind me before it gets caught. Every surface gleams, and the smell of burgers wafts towards me. The huge selection of ice creams on the counter has me craving the stuff: soft pink ripples of raspberry and cream, velvety chocolate fudge, creamy mint studded with dark chocolate chips, and heavenly coffee bliss are only a few of the flavours on display.

Groups of teenagers are huddled around booths and tables, chatting and laughing. Coupled with the clatter of metal cutlery on ceramic plates, the occasional bang of the door, and the soft music drifting from the radio half concealed behind the cash register, it creates an animated symphony of energy and brightness. My brain turns the sounds and liveliness into a challenge of colour and canvas – how could I capture this scene with a brush in my hand and an easel in front of me? Pastels? Oils? Maybe neither, maybe just a pencil and watercolours.

I walk towards the kitchen doors, hoping to see some sort of office appear along the way so I can check in with the owner. Apparently I'll be waitressing, which isn't too bad, I suppose. Hopefully my clumsy nature will decide to hibernate for a while.

I'm spared looking for someone as the doors fling open in front of me. A beautiful woman appears, holding a file under her arm and a plate covered with suds in the other. She has dark red hair which curls elegantly down her shoulders, and skin as white as porcelain. Her eyes, dark green and framed by thick lashes, are narrowed, her slender eyebrows furrowed in irritation.

"Zachary Goode! Come over here _right now_ ," she calls. I vaguely register the name but can't place it. Nobody appears and the woman huffs in frustration. She taps her foot impatiently on the ground, scanning the tables. Pausing suddenly, she spots me, almost hidden in the booth closest to the kitchen. She gives me a puzzled look and I step forwards.

"E-Excuse me, ma'am. Sorry to… disturb you. I was looking for someone to speak to about my new placement here? My name's Cammie Morgan."

Recognition lights up her face and she smiles.

"Ah, Cammie!"

"Yeah, that's me," I smile uncertainly.

"Oh, I'm Catherine Goode. I own the place, and I am actually," she winks, "your next door neighbour."

I freeze. Goode.

"What a coincidence!" I force a laugh. This is not funny. At all. Next door neighbour… Horror hits me as I realise who she is, who _Zachary_ is.

"Zach!" she calls again. I'm not surprised he's not coming over – it's getting loud in here.

"That boy." She shakes her head before looking at me. "Now, Cammie dear. I know we had you down as a waitress, but we have a slight issue. One of our chefs is ill today, and I can't seem to find Zach," she closes her eyes, "anywhere."

"How… inconvenient."

"Yes, quite so. Very inconvenient. And I can't find Zach anywhere. This is a disaster."

"Is there anything I could do?"

She smiles suddenly. "You wouldn't mind cooking for us today, would you?"

"Um…"

"Great!"

"Wait, what? I can't – " I try to protest but she talks over me.

"Go on! You'll be fine." She shoves me inside and the doors thud closed behind me.

xxxxx

Chaos. Total chaos.

That's how I'd describe this kitchen. _Hell's_ kitchen.

Everywhere I turn, someone is shouting and gesturing vigorously. Pots and pans litter the worktops, and every oven is switched on. The smell of chips mingles with fresh baked cookies, and puffs of flour emerge from each workspace, little white clouds of almost edible dust. The clang of metal and the rushing of tap water rise and fall, and the buzz of voices on top of that create an overall _loud_ effect.

I'm a mouse in the home of a freaking dragon.

I don't know the first thing about cooking. I can make beans on toast, yeah, and I'm fine at soup - you just bung everything together and boil it, right? But this… how am I supposed to make cookies or whatever? The last time I tried that, I ended up burning the chocolate in the microwave and frying the oven. Don't ask me how. And I don't even want to think about the time I tried making brownies with my friend during a sleepover. Poor Jemma. I don't think she quite recovered.

The point is, what am I going to do?

A rotund man walks over to me, cheeks pink and chubby fingers wrapped around a wooden spoon.

"What are you doing in here, young lady?"

"I'm the new waitre- chef."

"The new what now?" he says suspiciously.

"The new chef. Cook. Person. Thing." I sigh impatiently. "Look, I was meant to waitress but Mrs Goode told me I should sit in for the person who isn't in today."

"I see."

"You see. That's it?"

He ignores me. "What's your name?"

"Cammie."

"Alright, Cammie. I'm Arnold. I'm head chef. I want you to go over to that worktop over there," he points towards a small area in the corner, " and make me a Teriyaki Ribeye Steak."

My stomach drops. "A-a steak."

"Teriyaki Ribeye Steak, yes. You'll find the herbs in the cupboard, the meat in the freezer, the recipe – if you really need one – in the drawer, and I'm sure you can work the oven. Get an apron on and make me some steak. You have half an hour," he snaps, and leaves me to my doom.

Okay, first questions first. _What_ is teriyaki? I mean, I'm sure I've heard of it before. But what is it? Is it green? I saw this leafy stuff, but for some reason, it doesn't feel right. Is it yellow? I've got some powdery yellow spice stuff but I don't know...

I stare hard at the recipe again.

 _Marinate steak._

 _Cook steak._

 _Cut steak_.

This is obviously for someone who knows the recipe. Stupid Arnold.

I throw the recipe on the counter and scream internally. I can't screw this up, but I have no idea how to make this thing. So... Let's improvise.

I grab a carton of milk and a few herbs from the cupboard, a few beginning with 'T', and fling them all in a pot. I turn the gas on and start heating mixture, stirring it and adding a bit of pepper like I saw Nigella Lawson do once. Or at least, I think it was her. It turns a murky green colour and I cringe. Okay, improvising over.

I hear the doors open again and I turn, terrified it's Arnold expecting the dish to take out to the customer, but it's not. It is someone _considerably_ worse.

Could this day get any worse?

Tall, dark, and undeniably handsome, Zach Goode weaves his way through the kitchen. Seems like his mother found him, then. He greets the workers by name, smiling and laughing with them. He grabs a tray of cookies from a little old woman with steel coloured corkscrew curls and takes a bite. I can hear his exclamation from here.

"Mmm, you did good Louisa." His smooth voice makes my toes curl. I watch, and as he comes closer to me, I panic. He'll see me, he'll recognise me. Damn it.

I turn back around to my fail of a steak and hope against hope he doesn't see me. But of course, luck is not on my side today.

"And who do we have here?" he asks. He's still holding the cookie tray, and he's already eaten about half.

"Nobody," I mutter. I'm still preoccupied with what is fast becoming a culinary disaster, and I haven't any time for mindless chit-chat.

"Well, Nobody. What're you doing to that poor bunch of mint leaves?"

Mint leaves? I thought I was using parsley. "I'm _trying_ to make Teriyaki Ribeye Steak," I say crossly.

"Honey, you need _teriyaki_ for that," he says pityingly. "Cookie?" he asks, holding out the tray.

I turn angrily, irritated beyond belief with this stupid, _stupid_ steak and this... this _boy._ I briefly forget about my embarrassing first encounter with him and snap at him.

"First off, don't 'honey' me. Second, no, I do not want a _cookie._ And third: I don't know what the hell teriyaki is!"

I see surprise flash across his face as he sees my face, his eyes narrowing as he tries to place my face to what should be a very distinct and rather recent memory. My cheeks heat up and I fold my arms across my chest as he stares, and my eyebrows furrow as I worry what he's going to say. The mortification of the curtain incident and the window ordeal makes my cheeks burn even hotter, and I wish the earth would just open up and swallow me already.

However, a huge and unexpected smirk makes its way onto his lips, and he places the cookies on the counter, coming way closer than necessary. And as he replies, he looks and sounds _positively_ wicked.

"Well, Mystery Curtain Spy. I think you'll be needing a new pan." And he leans over, unties my apron, and plucks the pan out of my hands.

* * *

 **A/N Thank you for reading! I'm glad you all liked the last chapter (and Adam). This is a really short chapter but it was a little difficult to write so please excuse the absolute terribleness! I feel like it's really abrupt...**

 **I won't be able to update for a week now, because I'm going on holiday, so expect an update next Wednesday or maybe a little later. Sorry! Please feel free to tell** **me what you thought in a review, and don't forget to favourite and follow!**

* * *

 **lovewords: Omg thank you so much! I love long reviews! And yours was way too nice. I'm so happy you liked Adam, and don't worry, it's all sorted ;) definitely fluffy, and definitely Zammie!**

 **gallaghergirl614: Thank you! And of course there'll be Zammie ;)**

 **Guest: Thank you so much!**

 **OhNobody: Thank you :) yes, he really is pretty adorable! They're so awkward it's funny.**

 **miaadventure: Haha glad you found him so! He was meant to be ;) and I'm thinking... Cadam? Can't believe you're already thinking of ship names whoop whoop.**

 **Teenage Gallagher Girl Spy: Thank you very much.**

 **Sarah: Aw, such a nice review again! You're too nice to me! I'm so happy that this story makes you happy, it's such a great thing to hear and I can't believe it. I hope everything's good for you, and thank you! *virtual bear hug***

 **BooksLover2000: That means a huge amount! For my chapter to be called pristine... #goals, tbh. Thank you!**

 **CammieBishop: Thanks :) and good question! Personally, I actually don't know. My story is meant to be totally cliché, but then again, why is Zach labelled the jerk in a cliché story to begin with? I like your question so if anyone can think of a good answer, go ahead!**

 **Indigoandvioletskies: Thank you! I'm so glad it made you smile, that's all I want! Adam is a total cutie, I agree ;) and no, no Josh in this story. I don't like him... Sorry!**

 **Fanficlover4602: Wow... Thanks Jazzy! That's amazing... I'm a little shocked. I've never had anyone fangirl over me replying to them before!**


	4. Nicknames

**Nicknames**

" _No_. Not like that." He grabs the packet of herbs from my hands and all but shoves me out of the way.

"Like _what_ then, oh Wise Master of Teriyaki Ribs?" I grumble.

He points to a stool in the corner of the workspace. "Sit."

I raise my eyebrows. " _Excuse_ me?"

"You heard me, Curtains. Sit."

I glare at him, not moving. "And why would I listen to you? You, who have done nothing to make me even _think_ about wanting to listen to you?"

"And what is it, exactly, that I've done to so greatly offend you? Apart from causing you to break your curtains and probably your cute butt, that is."

There is a pause as I register what he just said and I open and close my mouth in shock. " _What?_ " I manage to get out.

Flustered, mortified and absolutely embarrassed are just a few words to describe how I'm feeling right now. I mean, I'm pretty sure he just admitted to checking out my butt. One does not simply ignore that. One _cannot_ simply ignore the fact that a scorching hot boy admitted – however indifferently – that he admired one's backside. And, of course, he inadvertently (more like very intentionally) bought up the window incident.

"I don't think your ears are working very well today," he says mildly, turning around. He leans against the worktop with his arms folded, and continues with the air of one talking about the weather.

"I was just saying how your rather perverted tendency caused you to break your curtains and probably your butt. And I don't see how that's offended you because, frankly, who can resist the abs? I mean, it's not your fault," he adds kindly, mixing up some saucy stuff and dumping it in a pan.

I stare at him for a while. _What_ is wrong with this boy?

"So yeah, how've I offended you, Curtains?" he says, a hint of a smirk threatening to grace his features.

I try to ignore what he just said and look at him incredulously for a few seconds before pretending to think, tapping my chin.

"Well, for starters… you just said that," I say flatly, gesturing towards him. "That in itself is enough to have 'greatly offended' me. Also, you binned my sauce, stole my apron, nicked the recipe, took my place at the counter, called me stupid nicknames, and," I say, drawing myself up to my full and not very tall height, "you _ate_ _all the cookies_. Seriously, who takes the last piece of food without asking? You're such a _boy_."

A grin curls his lip. "Ouch." He pretends to get shot, holding his imaginary wound with a fake but rather realistic grimace and I raise my eyebrows, unimpressed. He seems to catch on and stops, standing back up again and shrugging.

"Curtains, I _did_ offer," he smirks. "But I didn't realise you liked to keep such a record of things."

"Yeah, well, considering you just met me, there really isn't much you know about me is there?" I say shortly. "And, FYI, I am not sitting in the corner like some scolded child. _And_ ," I add on snappily, as he opens his mouth to interrupt with another stupid comment. "Quit calling me _Curtains_."

He raises his hands up in surrender and I can see he's trying not to laugh as his lips twitch. "Alright, alright."

My eyes widen suddenly as I glimpse a watch on his wrist. "Hey, what time is it?"

The sudden change of subject has him looking at me quizzically, but he shrugs bemusedly and then glances at his watch. "Quarter to eight."

"Crap."

"What's wrong?"

"Arnold said I had to have this done in half an hour or else I'm outta here. And since it's quarter to eight – "

"Fourteen to eight now, actually," he says matter-of-factly.

I glare at him and roll me eyes. "Since it's now _fourteen_ to eight, I have exactly fourteen minutes to make a freaking steak. For some reason, dear Arnold doesn't strike me as the sort of guy who'd let me off for screwing up, either. Did I mention I know nothing about cooking?"

He gazes at me with a half amused, half irritated look on his face before responding with a single word. "Sit."

"Are you even _listening_?" I ask exasperatedly, throwing my hands in front of me. "This is important to me!"

"Yep," he replies, popping the 'p'. "I know. That's why you have to sit. I'll make the steak, fourteen minutes – well, thirteen now – is plenty of time. We've got the sauce ready, no need to marinate it because it's quite spicy anyway so it won't be that noticeable if the flavour doesn't have time to penetrate. I'll cook the meat 'til it's tender, because steak doesn't actually take that long to cook if you wrap it in foil and blast the heat up; there'll be just enough time to add any leftover sauce and then, voilà. Arnold is happy, customer is happy, you're happy."

"I… Uh… Okay," I say, stunned. He lost me at 'marinate', but there's no need to tell him that, and I'm quite grateful. " But won't everyone else know I didn't make it?"

He raises his eyebrows at me, gesturing at the little workspace. "You seriously think anyone will notice? And anyway, if they do, they won't tell. They love me," he says smugly.

I roll my eyes.

"So, for the last time, _sit_." And he points towards the little stool.

xxxxx

Eleven minutes and thirty-two seconds later (yes, I was counting, and wow, has Zach actually managed to finish it before the thirteen minutes are up?) a freshly cooked steak sits on a polished white plate in front of me, complete with a splash of extra sauce and a dash of parsley – he made sure to find the herb himself. It actually smells divine, and the rich aroma of the meat and sauce has my stomach grumbling.

"And there you have it." He tips an imaginary hat and bows.

"Thanks, Zach." I say, only a little begrudgingly. "I owe you one."

"Nah, don't mention it." He adds some more pepper and looks at the steak critically.

"You like cooking, huh?" I ask, watching him.

He instantly stills. "No. I just know how to make steak."

"Sure ya don't." I grin.

"Shut it, Curtains." I spot a faint reddish tinge appear on his cheeks and the moment is absolutely _gold_.

"Are you _embarrassed_?" I ask gleefully.

"I said shut it," he mumbles. I laugh and he cracks what seems to be a rather unwilling smile. But as I register the reiterated use of my dumb nickname, I suddenly wonder why he hasn't asked what my name is in all of our almost twenty-five minutes together (which is rather a long time to go without asking.)

"Don't you want to know my _actual_ name, Zachary? You can stop with the whole Curtains thing now. It's embarrassing enough as it is," I mumble.

He laughs. "Sorry, no can do. That's going to be your nickname until I find a better one. So nope, I don't want to know. I'll find out on my own, Curtains." He smirks. "Besides, it makes you more mysterious. Even if the mysteriousness is somewhat diminished when I remember that you were spying on me through a window, wrapped in curtains, while I got changed," he adds nonchalantly.

I shift awkwardly and he grins widely, flashing me a bright, beautiful smile which transforms his whole face. It's a pleasant change from his ever present smirk, and so I reluctantly smile back in return.

I suddenly see him look up and hastily start pulling off his apron, stuffing it in a drawer behind him and pushing the plate towards me, before leaning back and grabbing his now empty cookie tray.

"What are you – "

"Hey, Arnold!" he calls, before giving me a warning glance.

"Mr Goode," a rather displeased voice says in return.

I spin around with the plate in hand, and smile brightly, doing my best to appear like I made this thing. "Arnold," I say. "One Teriyaki Ribeye Steak, as requested."

"Hm." He takes the plate and sniffs it, before turning it round and examining it from every angle. What did he expect me to put in it, for goodness' sake?

"I must say, I'm impressed. Good work." He takes the plate away with a pudgy hand and I grimace at his indifference. If only he knew how much hassle this caused.

"Cammie, I want you to continue working in the kitchens for us."

I freeze. "W-What?"

"You have clearly demonstrated your aptitude for cooking and I want you to carry on. We are very shorthanded in the kitchen and it would be a big… help."

"I-I… Um…"

He narrows his eyes at me and fixes me under his glare. "What is wrong, Cammie?"

"N-Nothing. Nothing at all," I squeak. "I-It's just, the thing is, I may not have made this entirely on my o – "

" – _Cammie_ here," he glances slyly at me as he says my name, "is a great cook, Arnold. She's trying to tell you that I was annoying her when she was making the steak. Don't worry, you won't regret your choice."

I hear Zach interrupt but I can't quite believe he just said that. I glare daggers at him. _What is he doing?_ His lips are twitching and I can tell it's taking all of his willpower not to burst out laughing. If looks could kill, he'd be ten feet underground – no, actually, scratch that – he'd still be dying a very painful death.

"Yes…" Arnold looks at me suspiciously, but I manage to smile, despite being seconds away from strangling Zach.

"Thank you, Arnold. I'll… take the job," I force out.

"That's what I thought. I expect you to carry on with your Wednesday and Friday shifts. " He gives me one last look before marching off with the cursed steak, and I instantly spin around to face Zach.

" _What_ did you think you were doing?" I ask furiously.

"What do you mean?" he says innocently.

"You know what," I say, fuming. How can a boy I barely know and just met be this _infuriating_?

He takes one look at my angry expression and bends over, laughing his deep, melodic laugh. I blush, tapping my foot impatiently.

"Glad to see someone is finding this amusing," I say drily.

His laughter trails off and I scowl at him darkly. "You _know_ I can't cook, and I sure as hell never expected him to make me work in the kitchens. I thought he'd make me do this once and then I'd be able to be a waitress like I was meant to!"

"Sorry, _Cammie_." He smirks. I feel the blood rush to my face at the sound of his voice wrapping around the syllables of my name.

"Great finding out skills you have there," I say flatly.

"I told you I had my ways."

"If by that you mean listening, then wow, kudos to you Sherlock."

He chuckles. "Don't forget to wash the dishes, Curtains," he says smoothly, throwing me the dishcloth.

"Hey – !" It lands on my face and I fumble for a second, before managing to pull it away. I make to shout after him, to tell him that he has not right to leave the washing to me, but he's already at the door.

That _idiot_.

* * *

 **A/N I'm _so sorry_ for not updating in ten whole days! I was on holiday and had no access to a laptop, which is literally the only way I can write properly (some people are able to write on their iPads and tablets, but I seriously can't.) I was able to check my mail and stuff though, and it was astounding how many of you reviewed. Thank you so MUCH for your support! Your reviews and responses are amazing, and I really couldn't ask for better readers - I seriously love you all. I'm going to give you all some pizza. And cookies. And cake. And anything else you fancy. **

**I thought this chapter was kind of cute, it was so fun to write their little bickering conversations. I know it's on the short side again but I have never believed in unnecessarily long chapters to begin with (especially as I find it damn hard to write really long ones.) Please leave your thoughts in the reviews for me, I'd love to know what you all thought! As always, make sure you favourite and follow if you haven't already :)**

* * *

 **BookLover2000: Glad you liked it :) Zach is just too cute, isn't he?**

 **Indigoandvioletskies: Thank you so much! It's amazing for me to hear that, I try to go into detail and the fact you noticed means a lot to me, especially when I've put a load of effort into it. So thank you! xxx**

 **miaadventure: *takes cookie* Thanks! I know, Zach is being sort of jerky but I love him all the same ;) And yes, Adam is undeniably sweet and cute.**

 **lovewords: Thank you! It was fun writing about the diner and those ice-creams had me craving the stuff :) I had a very good holiday thanks! Sorry for the late update - but I hope this is satisfactory? *like* *like* *like* ;)**

 **Guest 1: Thanks! I know this isn't soon but... oh well.**

 **Teenage Gallagher Girl Spy: I love a bit of melodrama ;) Loving the questions, and loving the review! Thank you! I'm glad you like it, and it's very reassuring that you think it's moving along well, and is, wow, excellently written. Thank you! And yes, teriyaki is just far too challenging.**

 **123autobots: That's amazing! Thanks gurllll. That means a helluva lot (why am I speaking like this.)**

 **TiggerMorgan: Aw, thank you so much! *smirks* Who knows... To Zammie or not to Zammie? (I'm just kidding, it's definitely Zammie.)**

 **fanficlover4602: I can't believe how excited you get! It's amazing :) Thank you so much xx I don't mind crazy ly2**

 **Guest 2: Yayyyyy thanks.**

 **Sunnive Steiner: Hahahaha your review cracked me up :) loved it. Thank you! So glad you like the story and the... events :') I'm a weirdo, let's be weirdos together.**

 **Asline Nicole: Haha aw well it's a shame you don't like Adam, but never fear, Zach is _always_ here. Thanks for your review!**

 **gallaghergirl614: That's great to hear :)**

 **NuhaXGoode: And I love writing it! And I'll sure think about it :) Thank you!**

 **athenadaughter6: Thank you so much. And haha that's great actually, because it means Adam is lovable! We definitely will see more of him, mark my words ;)**

 **Guest 3: Thanks, will do!**

 **Guest 4: Thank you, thank you, thank you!**

* * *

 **I appreciate all your reviews so much, and I really hope you like my replies. See ya! xx**


	5. A Table For One?

**A/N As always, you blew me away with all your wonderful reviews. I'm so grateful that I have you all as my readers! I hope you like this chapter, a new, quite important, character will be introduced. Thank you lovewords for the idea, I seriously owe you one ;)  
(This is on the short side too, I'm warning ya, a lot of them will be. I hope quality wins over quantity for you guys!)**

* * *

 **A Table For... One?**

I stare at the calendar long and hard before heaving a sigh and collapsing on my bed, flinging an arm over my face dramatically. The reason for my despair is as simple and typical as it comes, but it doesn't make it any easier to accept that soon, I will not be able to spend almost my whole day either painting or watching every single Marvel/DC television show out there.

Finally facing the fact that no, my calendar does not have a mistake, and yes, I only have two days of precious holidays left before that dreaded day otherwise known as Cameron Morgan's First Day at Roseville High, I slowly sit up and try to locate my work uniform for my shift at the diner. After a solid five minutes, I spot the black-and-white chequered skirt and the blue blouse stuffed behind my desk. They aren't too wrinkly so I quickly pull them on and run a brush through my dishwater blonde hair, checking my reflection in the mirror one last time before rushing out the door. I've got exactly six minutes to get to the diner, ready for my shift at seven. I was three minutes late last Wednesday and Arnold yelled at me for pretty much ten minutes straight; he's a stickler for punctuality – and by punctuality, I mean _punctuality_. Thank the lord, Zach wasn't there.

My last three shifts have been luckily void of kitchen work, but I'm doubtful how long that's going to last. Business has seen a bit of a lull this past week, but the moment school starts, I'm quite certain the place will be full to bursting again.

I hurry to the entrance just as the minute hand on my watch strikes fifty-nine minutes past, wrenching open the door and jumping inside. The usual fifties music blasts out the radio – how they manage to find a radio station which plays fifties music non-stop is beyond me – and again, hardly any customers await me. Is this some sort of miracle? I mean, it's not great news for business… but I can't pretend it isn't great news for me.

I see Arnold waiting for me by the front counter, staring at his wristwatch intently. He sees me rushing towards him and greets me with a nod and a stern hello, before moving out the way to go back into the kitchens, leaving me with taking orders and cleaning up duty – and I am not complaining.

Listening to Elvis Presley crooning the lyrics to Hound Dog, I get to work cleaning some of the recently vacated tables. Spritz, swipe, dry. Stack, carry, stack some more. Granted, it's boring work, but I'd much rather be doing this than cooking.

I carry a stack of dirty plates to the kitchen, realising a bit too late that this load is far more than I can carry. _Don't drop them, Cammie,_ I tell myself forcefully. _Do_ not _drop them_.

"Need some help?" a gruff voice asks from behind me. I start, almost dropping the plates there and then, but a hand shoots out to steady me; the plates, thankfully, do not go smashing to the ground. I carefully manoeuver myself so I'm facing the person who helped me and I grin happily – in other words, like a _total_ fool – when I see who it is.

"Adam!" I beam.

"Hey, Cammie." He smiles warmly at me, eyes crinkling at the corners. "You look like a girl in need of a hand."

He looks a lot more polished today, and sort of _cleaner_ than he did the last time, however that may sound. He's wearing a pair of jeans that actually fit him and a dark red polo shirt with the top button undone, _slightly_ more fitted than that flannel tent. His hair is slightly ruffled and he's got a few cute freckles on his nose, probably from spending time outside in the sun. His adorable glasses are there too, and needless to say, I'm mentally fanning myself.

"No, no. I'm okay, but thank you," I say, obviously lying as I grimace at the weight. "How did you know I work here?" I ask, trying to stop checking him out.

He looks at me doubtfully. "My friend told me a new girl was working at the diner last Friday. We don't usually get new faces around here, so I sort of suspected." He glances at the plates trembling in my arms and frowns. "Are you sure you don't want me to –?"

"I'll be _right_ back," I interrupt, all but ready to throw the plates on the ground. I dash into the kitchens and pile them next to the sink where I do most of the washing up and then run back out, pulling out my notepad and pen form the pocket in my apron when Arnold gives me a suspicious look.

"Just taking an order, Arnold!" I call.

"Back," I say a little breathlessly, halting to a stop in front of Adam. He looks at me a little bemusedly and I blush slightly.

"So, Adam. What will it be? A table for… one?" I ask, a little awkwardly.

"Oh, no. I'll get our usual booth, please. That one in the corner." He points towards a two-seated booth near the kitchen doors, the one I hid in on my first shift at the diner, and my smile falters.

"Oh, okay," I say, a little disappointed. Of _course_ he'd have a girlfriend. I know he didn't explicitly say that, but who else could it be? It's not like he'd be having a bromantic dinner with one of his buds in a secluded booth.

"Where's your girlfriend?" I ask, hoping I don't sound like a prat and knowing that I totally do. He looks at me, slightly confused; only half-hearing what I said as he's too busy looking towards the doors behind me.

"What?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed. I open my mouth to reply, planning on saying something else as he didn't exactly hear me the first time and I can save myself some embarrassment, but he interrupts, calling over my shoulder and cutting me short.

"Finally," he says, rolling his eyes. "What took you so long? I could've eaten and left and you'd still be outside."

"Never said you had to wait for me, honey bunch," a voice retorts immediately.

He rolls his eyes again, this time affectionately. "That, Cammie, is my foolish best friend Michaela."

 _Oh_.

I spin around just in time to see a girl walking in, stuffing a phone into her bag as she makes her way towards us. She's quite short, but with her chunky, heeled black boots you can't really tell, and she's so pretty I feel like a toad just standing here. As I take in her appearance, I find myself feeling instantly, if not unwillingly, jealous. Her hair is positively envy-inducing: it's blonde, but instead of the dirty dishwater colour mine insists on being, it's that gorgeous sun-kissed gold I could never hope to achieve. Add to it the fact that it falls right past her shoulders to the small of her back in perfect waves; I might as well just shave mine off.

I also really like her shirt, you know. I would so buy that.

She hurries towards us and smiles at me as she approaches, and I find myself smiling back straight away.

"Hey, Cammie, nice to meet you," she says warmly. "I see you've already met Adam – shame you had to meet him before me."

"Very funny," Adam says drily. "Why don't you go sit down so we can order already, huh, Princess?"

I laugh at his nickname for her, just noticing a faint pink colour coating Michaela's cheeks before she responds and it disappears.

"Somebody's hungry," she says, pushing him towards the booth. "C'mon Cammie, we'll order." She rolls her eyes at me behind his back and I chuckle at their antics.

"What would you like?" I ask once they've settled down, my pen poised over the page.

"Strawberry milkshake to share, two hot dogs with ketchup and mustard and a deluxe basket of fries," Adam rattles off. I nod, mentally noting how Michaela got proper diner food instead of a stupid salad that isn't even on the menu, like some of the teenage girls who have come here. I think I like her.

"Coming right up," I smile, dotting the last 'i'. "Shouldn't be too long, we aren't that busy today."

"Thanks, Cam," Michaela smiles. "I can call you Cam, right?" she adds hastily.

"'Course," I laugh. "Adam can't though," I say, straight-faced.

He sits up indignantly and Michaela snorts. "She's joking, you idiot."

"Right," he replies, pushing up his glasses. "I knew that."

I laugh at him before turning to go to the kitchens. "Won't be ten minutes!" I call over my shoulder.

* * *

 **A/N Thank you for taking the time out to read this! Please leave your thoughts in a review: I'd love to see what you thought of Michaela. Personally, I really like her character. You can probably guess that no, I have not re-checked this chapter... so excuse the mistakes :)**

 **I'm going to London for four days, so I will not be updating until at least Friday, and I won't have any wifi either. Don't think that I've forgotten about the story if I don't update on Friday though: just know that I will update as soon as I can. This short holiday was actually a surprise, and I'm aware I've just had a week long absence from updating, but I'm sure you can all wait four (or five, possibly six) days!**

 **Have a great day/night, my friends!**

* * *

 **TiggerMorgan: Haha thanks! Yes, there is a little tension ;)**

 **Indigoandvioletskies: I had a very nice holiday thank you! Spain is absolutely gorgeous. I would never forget, don't worry! Thank you so much, I'm so glad. McDonalds better be jellll ;) And... is this soon enough? Sorry for the wait you'll have for the next chapter! xxx**

 **BooksLover2000: Hahaa**

 **miaadventure: OMG I love that idea haha and nah I'm aiming to be super cliché because I totally don't care, and I like the fluffiness. Zach will be teaching her later on and you know, I shall definitely be considering your idea. XD**

 **TeenageGallagherGirlSpy: Haha I thought that was cute too. And yeah, I know what you mean! Are you in one of those moods today? Hehe**

 **CammieBishop: Yay, haha thanks!**

 **Guest 1: Thank you! I hope the rest doesn't disappoint! :)**

 **OhNobody: Thanksss! That's so sweet XD**

 **Guest 2: Thank you :) Haha yeah, that bit was quite fun to write!**

 **lovewords: T.H.A.N.K.Y.O.U. aw such a nice review! Haha I thought that was cute too XD And phew, that's good to hear, I mean I do want it to be cliché but not too much, ya know? Hope you liked this Adam chapter! And another certain someone, I really do hope I did her justice ;)**

 **NuhaXGoode: Thanking you :)**

 **fanficlover4602: Thanks youuu! It sure does feel great to be loved ;) And I will most definitely continue, honey bunch :P**


	6. Unintentional Eavesdropping

**Unintentional Eavesdropping**

Monday 1st September.

Sometimes known as the first day of Hogwarts. Other times known as the two hundred and forty-fourth day of the year (two hundred and forty-fifth on leap years, if we're being technical.) Occasionally recognised as Journalist Day in China. Independence Day in Uzbekistan. Random Acts of Kindness Day in New Zealand.

And this year also known as Doomsday - previously documented as Cameron Morgan's First Day at Roseville High.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," I moan. I bang the alarm on my dresser, punching it in a vain attempt to get it to cease its incessant ringing, but it won't stop and I'm faced with the task of actually having to open my eyes to switch it off.

Once I finally get it to stop, I swing my legs out of bed and stumble blearily towards the window, basking in the warm sunlight filtering in through the half-drawn, recently-fixed curtains for a few moments. A relieved sigh escapes me as I see that the curtains on the window opposite are fully drawn and shut, meaning I won't have any unwanted encounters this morning.

Gathering up my towel, a pair of skinny jeans and my favourite t-shirt, I hurry to the bathroom and get showered in record time; seems like my nerves are just serving to speed me up. My hair is somehow miraculously void of the usual amount of tangles, so I deem it safe enough to leave my hair down, running a quick brush through it to smooth it. I grab an apple from the kitchen on the way out, hastily unlocking the door and stepping out into the warm sun. The weather seems to be getting marginally cooler, and it isn't as stiflingly hot as it was when I first arrived, thank goodness. I might even be able to go out with my paints and easel without worrying about dying of heatstroke.

I go out and wait on my porch, trying not to look totally stupid as I check my watch. Adam offered to drive me to school, asking me after my shift ended on Friday. He was full of endearing blushes and stutters, and it was plain to see that he was nervous – what about, I don't know. I'm not that intimidating. I obviously agreed – who would choose the bus over a comfortable car ride? But I realise a little late that waiting out on the front porch isn't best if you don't want to look desperate, and boy do I look desperate right now, clutching my bag to my side, standing there like a tree.

Just as I'm turning to go back inside so I can wait for Adam within the safety of my home and _not_ appear desperate, I hear a door being yanked open next door, followed by an angry shout. The sound of the morning news blares out of the open door, turned up to what must be full volume in an effort to mask the shouting. It would work if I was inside and our doors were closed, but unfortunately, I'm stood outside in close proximity to their house, and I can hear every painful word. I have no idea how to disappear without them hearing my door opening and closing, so instead, I edge away and press myself to the wall, trying to remove myself from view and simultaneously trying to get my ears to stop working so I don't have to hear them.

"You _never_ listen to me. I'm tired of it! You, him, both of you – you want me to do something I'd never do. Least of all with _him._ Why can't you understand that?"

"Zach, why do you hate him so much? He's your _father_."

"He is _not_ ," he spits, "I don't have a father anymore." He marches outside, hefting his bag onto his shoulders and shaking his head. "You know what, mom, forget it. I'm going. We're not talking about this right now."

"Please, Zach. Zach – !"

The door slams shut and the sound of the woman's sudden pleading is cut off abruptly. I stand there, shocked, wondering what I just intruded upon. He sounded so angry, but the tangible threads of sadness were still there, lacing through his every word. I feel guilty, wishing I didn't hear, but feeling horribly curious all the same. What exactly is it that he doesn't want? I can just see him paused on his porch, running a hand down his face in anger or sadness, I can't tell. He steps off the porch and I see him turn to stroll down the drive to his car, parked on the side of the road. He seems to be back to normal, sunglasses on, dark jeans slung a tad too low and signature white t-shirt straining around his muscles as he adjusts his bag straps. I tear my eyes away from him, heat creeping up my neck as I remember the first time I saw him in decidedly less clothing.

My heart suddenly leaps into my throat as I realise he's going to see me when he gets into his car, and my heart threatens to flop out onto the porch – I need to _hide_. What will he do if he realises I've been eavesdropping? Unintentionally, mind you, but I doubt it will make a difference to him – if he isn't angry, it's definitely going to be supremely awkward.

I hurriedly try to get the key in the lock to escape inside without him noticing me, but just because my hair was okay today doesn't mean everything else will be. As I try to insert the key, it hits the lock at an awkward angle and slips from my grasp. I make a mad grab for it, but it brushes my fingertips and continues to fall, as if in slow motion. I watch, almost in a horrified trance, as the heavy metal lands on the stone steps. A huge clatter tears through the quiet of the morning, and I freeze, hoping, madly praying that maybe, just maybe, he didn't hear. But the sudden stopping of his footsteps indicates that he heard quite well, and visions of my impending doom flit across my mind. He definitely doesn't seem like he's in the kind of mood to tolerate (accidental) eavesdroppers, no matter how nice he was to me back in the days of teriyaki steak.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I face my fears and spin around to face him, waiting for the inevitable angry remark to erupt from his lips and come my way; I'm already thinking of excuses. However, I'm surprised to see that he isn't even looking at me – I don't think he even turned around. He continues strolling down to his car, completely ignoring my presence, and I can't tell whether I should be relieved or irritated. Unlocking his stupid red Maserati, he opens the door leisurely, turning around a second before getting in. He doesn't turn to face me, but he knows I'm there, and judging by the tense set of his shoulders, he suspects I heard what happened. But, instead of asking me about it, he says something entirely unexpected.

"See you at school," he calls. Quickly sliding into the driver's seat and pulling the door closed in one fluid movement, he revs the engine unnecessarily, once, twice, before reversing and zooming off down the road without a backwards glance. I'm left standing there in front of the door, bewildered and still feeling the remnants of unjustified guilt as I stare after him. It's not my fault he was arguing with his mother when I happened to be standing outside, within hearing distance… but I still feel bad that I heard. It wasn't my business. What shocks me most, however, isn't how he shouted at her or what he said, it's how his mother sounded when she pleaded for him to come back inside – worlds apart from the beautiful and lively woman at the diner, smiling and laughing.

The sound of another car interrupts my thoughts, and I step off the porch as it comes into view. It's a dusty red Chevrolet Camaro, trundling down the lane and rolling to a sputtering stop at the bottom of my drive. I can just make out a mop of golden hair through the tinted window, and a smile engulfs my face as I see Adam roll it down and wave at me. The awkwardness of the past five minutes with Zach is forgotten as I see his tanned, smiling face.

"Taxi service for Miss Cameron Morgan," he calls, tipping an imaginary hat. I hurry down to the car and grab the passenger door. It takes a second to get the door to open, and I have to yank on it to get it unstuck. Okay, I'm going to need both hands for this job.

"Hey, hold my bag for a second?" I ask him, and he holds his hand out through the window. But, instead of smoothly taking it, the strap gets caught in the side mirror, causing a heavy notebook to fall on my foot. I suck in a breath as it collides with my big toe and Adam jumps in his seat, straining to see what happened. He looks at me worryingly, a sheepish look on his face.

"Ah, sorry!" he says anxiously. "You okay?"

"Fine, fine," I wave him off. "Don't worry about me," I smile. I slide into the seat after picking up the book and give him a reassuring look. No need to tell him about the throbbing toe.

Spotting a familiar blonde in the back seat, I open my mouth to say hello, but she beats me to it and I see her shake her head despairingly at Adam before turning to me.

"Hi, Cammie."

"Hey," I smile warmly.

"I thought I'd let you have the front seat today, but don't expect it to be a common occurrence." She closes the book on her lap, carefully placing a bookmark to mark her page before peering at me over the rim of her aviators, slender eyebrows raised. "Adam needs someone to give him directions, even if we are just going to school."

"I'll make sure to remember that then, thank you," I chuckle. She smirks at me and leans forward to tap Adam on the shoulder, who is shooting daggers at her.

"Come on, _taxi driver_ , we're going to be late," she snorts, and he gives her a disgruntled look as she flicks him on the shoulder. "Try not to injure anyone else on the way, alright?" she adds, laughing at his pink cheeks.

"Oh, be quiet," he mutters.

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 **A/N Oooh, what was that? Haha, hope you liked it! This showed a little insight into Zach's slightly troubled home life and character. I know it feels so over-done, but hopefully I can make it work. Please tell me what you thought! I love you all and thank you so much for reading - you are truly the best readers ever :) And I'm so glad you all liked Michaela!**

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 **BooksLover2000: Haha, thank you! She is pretty chill :)**

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 **Indigoandvioletskies: Aw, I'm so glad you like it and everyone in it! True, you are too fabulous! Haha yes, Adam is TOO CUTE xxx**

 **lovewords: Your review was too niceeeeeee, thank you thank you! Super long, too ;) EEP I'm so glad you love Michaela! Banat will commence soon enough hahah. Aw, I'll miss you too, but we do have a pretty good communication strategy going on, don't ya think? :)**

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**

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**

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 **athenadaughter6: Thank you, and I sure will think about that sort of thing. I think something in that essence is going to happen anyway :)**

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	7. Doomsday

**Doomsday**

The journey only takes us ten minutes, but I can feel my heart thumping non-stop, beating a tattoo against my chest. I don't know why I'm so _nervous_. I've moved around a lot as a child, but I haven't ever been quite so worried about my first day. The way Adam described the people there… am I scared of being judged? Being invisible? Looked down upon? It wouldn't be anything new – I'm quite used to that treatment, to be honest, and I prefer it to being in the spotlight. But drawing attention is going to be inevitable, especially in such a small town. Here, basically all the married couples were childhood sweethearts and everyone was friends since kindergarten. I can tell that they don't get many newcomers. I've already attracted a few curious looks the last time I went out, to the local supermarket to get some food. The cashier asked me what my name was as she waited for me to enter my pin, and the woman behind me started interrogating me about my parents and my whole bloody life whilst stuffing a dummy in the mouth of her bawling two-year-old son.

No, that's not it. And although I'm trying to find another viable explanation, the actual reason that is causing my heart to pummel against my ribs is as clear as day and way too embarrassing to admit. I'm scared... of seeing _him_. What if he doesn't talk to me or even acknowledge me? What if he _does_ talk to me? Something tells me he's definitely one of the popular boys – with a beautiful girlfriend in the mix, no doubt, plus a bunch of too-hot guys as friends, too.

I lean my head against the warm window as I listen to the incessant bickering taking place between Michaela and Adam. The way they squabble about the tiniest, most trivial things is both endearing and annoying, and although I know Michaela loves to get under his skin and tease him mercilessly, I can tell, equally as clearly, that he doesn't mind one bit. He even likes it, judging by his brighter than sunshine laugh whenever she does it. If I didn't know that they were just friends, I'd fully expect them to be together; the kind of couple that everyone would be hugely envious of – what they have is so _easy_ , and never in my life have I had a relationship like that with anyone, much less a boy; I'd definitely be harbouring more than a little bit of jealousy towards her if that was the case. However, seeing as that's _not_ the case, I don't have to worry about making a mistake and revealing my almost-crush on Adam.

Almost-crush, I hear you ask? Well, I'm certain that I don't _completely_ fancy him right now – I mean, I hardly know the guy. But he's so sweet and kind, not to mention totally hot; I'm fairly sure that that feeling is not far off, especially once I get to know him. My parents would love him; it would be difficult for anyone not to, really.

I feel my stomach drop as we approach the school; it practically appears out of nowhere. It's a big, imposing building of steel, brick and glass; rectangular, modern and reeking of money – or maybe that's just me. In front of the main entrance is a car park, and around the building are vast expanses of field. I spot a running track and some bleachers, and a large spectator's stand surrounding a pitch of some kind.

Adam turns into the car park, the Camaro's engine coughing and sputtering like a child with a cold. He reverses painstakingly slowly into the empty space furthest away from the entrance. Cursing loudly as the rear light hits the pole, he resorts to asking Michaela to get out so she can direct him into the space.

"Okay, okay," she says, getting out and standing behind the car, gesturing for him to reverse. He haltingly reverses and she signals for him to keep going, but he gets too confident. He presses down too hard on the pedal, not looking in the wing mirror when she holds up her hand to tell him to stop.

"Ada – " I begin, about to tell him to stop, but I'm a little too late. She lets out an ear-splitting shriek as he almost rams into her, the bumper just grazing her stomach. I gasp slightly, and swivel in my seat.

"What, what?!" he shouts frantically, rolling down the window and sticking his head out to look behind. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you _what happened_." She squeezes out from behind the car and marches to the back door, reaching inside to get her bags. "You almost ran me over, you _idiot_."

"Sorry," he groans.

"Sorry wouldn't cut it if you had crushed me against the wall, would it?" she snaps, hoisting her bag up onto her shoulder.

He grimaces at me before getting out the car and hurrying over to her. I shake my head at him, hiding a smile, and gather up my things to get out. I close the door and watch their exchange, trying not to let any sound resembling a laugh escape me lest I have to face the wrath of Michaela.

"I'm _sorry_ ," he says earnestly. "You know I didn't mean to almost kill you." He wraps her in a quick hug and she squeals, whacking his arms with one hand while the other, almost involuntarily, wraps around his neck. Her eyes widen and she lets go suddenly, stepping back hurriedly as if she was caught doing something wrong. She laughs it off when Adam raises his eyebrows at her, and instead bounds up to me and grabs my hand.

"C'mon Cammie, let's go," she smiles, but she still looks unsettled, which I don't understand. Why did a hug get her so worked up? I shrug slightly and chuckle at the bemused expression on Adam's face as he pushes up his glasses. As we walk past him, Michaela mumbles softly, "Apology accepted," before promptly smacking him on the head. I turn and catch him grinning at her retreating back, relieved and rubbing his head, and I glance at her to see a small, chewed-off grin curling her lips.

"Okay, stop smiling. It's the first day of school, be depressed with me please," I say, only half-joking. She gives me a startled look and brings her hands to her lips, as if she wasn't aware she was smiling, but before I can question her, she replies.

"Alright, alright," she says, dragging a hand across her face in the pretence of wiping it clean of all emotion. "Let's be depressed together."

As we approach the entrance, I can make out tall automatic glass doors, and through them, I can just spot a large reception area with an enormous desk. The doors are sparkling in the sunshine, partially obscured by the haggle of teenagers grouped in front of them and on the steps, milling around and presumably waiting for the bell to ring. There are so many _people:_ all of them chattering away, tapping away on huge touchscreens and gossiping about who-knows-what. My stomach plunges and swoops, and I find myself involuntarily looking for a familiar dark head, before I catch myself. I'd rather I didn't see him – that means he won't see me, right?

"You okay?" Michaela asks, looking at me shrewdly.

"Just a little nervous," I mumble.

"Don't be," she says kindly, nudging me softly on the shoulder. "You'll be fine, I'm sure of it."

"Thanks," I say, feeling some of the tension melt away from my shoulders at the thought that I am not alone today: what would I have done if I hadn't met Adam? If I hadn't met Michaela? I almost shudder at the thought, despite the warm weather.

"Right," I hear her say. "First thing we'll have to do is go to the office, after the bell – "

A loud ringing interrupts her, piercing and shrill. She closes her eyes for a second in exasperation. "I hate that bell, you know that?" she mutters. I watch as the swarm of students move through the doors, hearing the muffled shouts of the pushed and the shoved as people all but fight to get past. I turn back to Michaela and she pulls me away to wait for the stampede to pass.

"Anyway, we'll go to the office now and collect your timetable and all your other stuff," she says. "Hopefully you'll be in the same homeroom as me so I don't have to suffer through it on my own."

"You don't have it with Adam?"

"Nope, or else I wouldn't be complaining about the sheer lack of normal, sane people, would I?" she laughs drily.

"Of course," I snort.

"And once you've got everything, I'll help you find your locker so you can dump some of your stuff, and it'll give me an excuse to miss homeroom if by some sad chance you _aren't_ in it. Then, off we go to lessons!" The last sentence is dripping with mock enthusiasm, practically oozing the stuff, and I grin.

"Don't sound too happy about it."

"Come on," she responds, dragging out the 'on'. "We've got places to be! And you don't want to be late on your first day."

"Lead the way," I say amusedly. "What about Adam?" I ask as she pulls my arm.

"Oh, he'll find his way," she says, rolling her eyes.

xxxxx

"Are you sure that's the right number?"

"Locker 528," I read off the laminated paper in my hand. "Yep, as perfectly sure as the last five times I've told you."

"Okay, put that sass back in the bag, Cam. We'll find it."

"Really?" I ask sceptically. "We've been looking for the past twelve minutes and so far, we haven't even found locker 500."

"That stupid map doesn't even help," she grumbles.

"Let's just find it later, okay? At least you're in my homeroom." I wiggle my eyebrows.

"Correction: you _'_ re in _my_ homeroom."

"Either way, we're a bit late."

"I was counting on skipping it, you know, now you've just ruined my whole Morning Plan."

"Oh really? And what did your 'Morning Plan' consist of?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

"I hadn't got to that part yet," she mumbles.

Michaela leads the way while I trail behind her, taking in the endless corridors and the few displays on the walls, with posters ranging from last year's Winter Formal to a picture of the most recent debate team. Suffice to say, that is one of the clubs I will _not_ be joining. I can't debate – or, for that matter, do any sort of public speaking – to save my life.

Luckily, we aren't too late, as the teacher hasn't even arrived yet, so we manage to slip in unnoticed while the rest of the room is a babble of noise and raucous laughter. But as we make our way towards the row of empty seats on the far side of the room, the noise dies down and I feel almost every pair of eyes turn towards me. My steps falter, and my cheeks flood with heat as I pull self-consciously on the hem of my t-shirt, wishing I'd worn something slightly more, shall we say… _en_ _vogue_.

I finally get to my seat, relief seeping into my veins as I collapse on the chair and turn to Michaela for help. I notice everyone turn away and start muttering, and slowly the volume builds back up. She just rolls her eyes.

"Ignore it, we just haven't had anyone new for years, so a lot of people are going to be looking at you like some zoo exhibition. Better get used to it," she shrugs.

"Right… should be easy."

"Don't _worry_ , Cammie. Seriously, you'll be fine. People will be queuing up to get you in their stupid cliques, mark my words."

"Huh, well let's hope this isn't like a high-school movie then, right?" I force a weak laugh.

"Seriously?" she asks, and I can practically sense the eye-roll coming my way.

I'm spared the embarrassment of replying when the door opens and an impossibly short woman walks in. The class instantly quietens. She has iron grey hair pulled into a tight coil in the middle of head, not a single hair escaping, and is wearing an ankle-length bottle-green corduroy skirt that should be made illegal, plus an ill-fitting mustard yellow blouse. It strains against her stomach and the colour combination makes my eyes water. I give a sideways glance at Michaela and she just shakes her head, obviously trying not to burst out laughing.

"I expect you all to be silent when I walk in!" the woman snaps. Her voice is exactly like a child trying to imitate a witch: croaky, high-pitched and downright weird.

She stares around the room for too long, and stares at countless members of the room relentlessly before turning to sit at her desk. She opens up the registration page on her desktop and still, no one has uttered a sound. She begins the process of calling out everyone's names, and I dread the moment when she reaches mine. She calls out a Jonas Anderson first: a bespectacled, skinny boy with thick black hair, who responds with a quiet 'here'. I match up people's names to their faces as I attempt to ignore the fact she's getting closer to my name. But of course, I can't stop time, and she reaches 'M' on the alphabetically ordered list eventually.

"Cameron Morgan."

"H-here," I stutter. Everyone's eyes swivel towards me yet again, and I automatically lean back in my seat.

"You're new," the teacher states matter-of-factly. "I am Mrs Boman."

The first thing that passes through my mind when she tells me her name is that I feel sorry for her husband. Then, she continues before I can zone out.

"And you have come here from…?"

"Um… Detroit." She stares at me along with everyone else before turning back to the register and letting me breathe again. What is her problem? Everyone begins to whisper as soon as the register is finished, and I have no trouble discerning what the topic of conversation is about.

Mrs Boman gets up suddenly and leaves in a whoosh of corduroy skirts, without so much as a good day. I look at Michaela, confused, but she just points at the clock, and as if on cue, the bell rings.

"It's weird – that woman always knows exactly when it's going to ring."

First period starts at twenty past nine, so I have five minutes to find my AP Chemistry class. Such a great first lesson of the year, no? I bid Michaela goodbye as she goes to her Literature class and hurry towards the second floor, terrified of losing my way. The corridors are already beginning to fill up with people, and I don't want to get caught in the throng.

Thankfully, the door numbers are much easier to follow than the non-logical locker numbers, and I find Lab 15 just in time for the start of lessons bell. I check and double check the number to make sure I'm at the right place, before I walk inside, scanning the room for a familiar face – namely Adam – or at least an empty seat away from the stares people are _already_ starting to give me. When are they going to learn that I am just a very unexceptional human being?

I spot a lone seat by the window, near the front of the class which everybody seems to be avoiding like the plague. As I take in the array of people already seated, I'm fast beginning to feel like an ugly duckling in the midst of beautiful swans: it doesn't help that basically every girl is prettier than pretty.

The teacher hasn't arrived yet, which seems to be a thing for the teachers here, so I busy myself with taking out my pencil case and an empty notebook and, for lack of anything better to do, start doodling on the first page. I need to go out and paint something – I feel like I haven't touched my brushes in years.

As I'm sketching, I notice a sudden lull in conversation. I look up curiously, expecting the teacher, and hastily shut my notebook in case it is. A lot of people are craning their necks to get a better look at whoever it is, and I can't fully make them out over the sea of heads. As far as I can tell, it isn't the teacher, so I go back to my drawing, expecting everyone to shut up. But then, the mutters increase tenfold, gradually buzzing and getting louder and louder. I snap my notebook shut in frustration to see who the hell is causing such a commotion, stuffing my pencil in my pencil case and looking up irritably.

My heart drops to the squeaky laminate flooring.

There, striding purposefully towards me, with his trademark smirk in place and tousled hair to boot, is Zachary Goode.

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 **A/N So, what did you think? I quite liked writing this chapter, I feel like you get to see a lot more of Michaela and Adam's relationship in it. Hmm... wonder why she was 'unsettled' after Adam hugged her? Who knows... *evil grin*  
Please remember to review and tell me your thoughts! I'll endeavour to reply to every single one, and even if I ever forget again, just remind me and I'll make sure to do it. :)**

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 **BooksLover2000: Pretty awkward, yeah haha.**

 **Indigoandvioletskies: Thank you! I try ;) ADAM IS SO CUTE I KNOW haha I'm serious too, and I shall neever tire of anyone saying my babe creation is cute ;) You're such an amazing reviewer and reader, thank ya! xxx**

 **fanficlover4602: Thank you :) I love the freaking out, be a freak-outer, it motivates me hehe.**

 **TiggerMorgan: That would have been such a good idea! Oh well, you can PM me if I ever forget, okay, please? Haha anyway, thank you! Her dropping the keys moment was so Csmmie, whyyy? don't you think? Haha :P**

 **Guest: Thank you! Oh dear, I need to make Zach more lovable! I do love Adam, but we need Zach love too ;) I will sure as hell keep updating!  
**

 **LifeIsGoode: Will do! And can I just say... I love your username.**

 **HippieGuru: That is probably the best thing I've ever read: 'far out brussel sprout', that's awesome hahah. Ignore me, I don't know why I find it so funny... Thank you, that's very nice of you! I have de skillz yahhh.**

 **Sunniva Steiner: Don't worry about it! Thanks for this one! I know, poor Zach :( This wasn't soon but... I hope it's good enough to outweigh the lateness?** **xxx**

 **lovewords: Awww, thank you! I hope you liked the school! And I know, everyone is saying that haha, I think people prefer Adam to Zach actually! But then again... who can blame them ;) he too CUTE. You are super amazing too hehe, thank you! Super sorry for late update though, definitely wasn't soon.  
**

 **TheAsylumEscapee: Thank you! Zach is Zach, what can I say, haha. Glad you like it so far, and a kitchen chapter should soon be coming up :)  
**

 **NuhaXGoode: Haha thank you, and we shall seeeee...**

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 **THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR ASDFGHJKL REVIEWS, SERIOUSLY, THANK YOU SO MUCH.**


	8. Chemistry and Paper Aeroplanes

**A/N Please read the author's note at the end though - it'll be regarding future updates!**

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 **Chemistry Lesson No. 1**

He settles down in the seat next to mine, leisurely taking out his belongings and placing them on the lab bench in front of him. Everyone in the room is whispering and muttering, which tells me that for some reason, it's a big deal that Zach came and sat next to me; I was perfectly content sat on my own – _why_ did he have to be in the same class as me?

As I'm complaining to myself, I don't notice him shuffling his chair closer until his elbow brushes mine. I jerk my arm away and scowl at him before shifting my chair, moving it so I'm as far away as I can be without disappearing into the wall altogether.

"What do you think you're doing?" I hiss.

He gives me an innocent look, purposefully leaning closer. "What do you mean?"

I narrow my eyes at him, intending to give him an intimidating glare, but I think it comes off as more of a twitch, and he just gives me an amused grin. I send him a suspicious look before staring studiously at the lab entrance, waiting for the teacher to come and put me out of my Zach-induced misery.

He doesn't try anything again, and for the next couple of minutes starts tapping out rhythms on the benchtop. I try to ignore it, but the constant tap-tapping almost drives me over the edge, and I find myself itching to reach over and slap his hand. Just as I'm about to give in and snap at him, he stops. He pauses for a minute, as if in thought, and then reaches for his book. He rips out a piece of lined paper and scrawls something on it quickly, chuckling to himself. Curiosity gets the better of me and I try to see what he's writing, but whether intentionally or unintentionally I can't tell, his arm blocks the writing from view. All I can catch a glimpse of before he folds the paper into an aeroplane is the name 'Jonas'.

He turns in his seat, peering around the room. The class follows his every move – what is The Great Zachary Goode going to do next? He takes aim at a tiny, pixie-like girl in the middle of the room. She has blonde hair and large blue eyes, and is reading a thick book most likely heavier than she is. She's pretty and cute, and I haven't the faintest idea why Zach would want to pick on her. She doesn't notice him and his stupid paper plane, though, and continues reading. However, the girl next to her – a caramel-skinned, chocolate-eyed goddess who probably inspires envy in every female who sees her – does notice. She's wearing a look of faint amusement as he makes a show of his plane throwing, rolling her eyes and smiling, instead of looking outraged at the fact he's throwing it at her friend. She shifts her gaze to where I'm partially hidden behind Zach, and unconcealed interest flickers across her face as she meets my eyes, no doubt wondering why Zach sat with me, of all people.

Well, wouldn't we all like to know the answer to _that_ question?

I look away, her inquisitive stare beginning to make feel uncomfortable, and look back at Zach, who bends his arm back slowly and then lets the plane fly. It arcs gracefully across the room, a white blur, and lands right in front of the dainty blonde, smoothly sliding to a stop on top of her open book. She looks up in surprise, confusion clouding her features as she picks it up gingerly. She glances at her gorgeous friend, who shrugs and gives her a knowing look, whispering something to her, and then she looks toward Zach, who is watching her and smiling smugly. She sends him a questioning look but he just shrugs and points to the plane, motioning for her to open it.

She unfolds it carefully, her eyes scanning the page. Everyone is still watching either Zach or the girl, and I find myself doing just the same; feeling far too nosey and wanting to know what he sent her. As she reads, a pink blush creeps up her neck and blooms across her porcelain cheeks, and I see her give a tiny smile before folding the paper back up almost reverently and placing it in her book to act as a bookmark. She looks slightly embarrassed, but she can't seem to keep the smile off her face, and as she looks towards Zach again, he gives her a small wink and a salute. She laughs quietly, a tinkle of silver bells, and then notices her smirking friend, who's swiped the note. She tries to take it out of her hands but fails, and instead resorts to giving a defeated sigh and whispering to her friend. Overwhelming curiosity makes me wish I knew what this was about – it obviously wasn't as mean an act as I first suspected, but what _is_ it? Are Zach and her together? But then why would he mention Jonas, who I now remember from my homeroom not ten minutes ago? No, that's not it.

The teacher walks in just as I'm beginning to think the only thing I'm going to learn this lesson is that everyone takes a very profound interest in Zachary Goode. He is a jovial looking man with a round, reddish face and a wide smile. Bouncing in, he deposits a few bulky looking folders and a worn leather satchel behind his desk, and rummages around for a moment before re-emerging with a wrinkled lab coat. He pulls it on, albeit it being a bit too short on the sleeves, and looks around the class happily.

"Good morning, class! I'm Dr Steve Sanders, as you all know, but remember, I want you to call me Dr Steve."

He quickly goes through a register, calling out names – I place the name Liz to the blonde girl who got the paper plane and Rebecca to the beautiful friend, who instantly corrects Dr Steve and quickly reminds him it's 'just Bex'. Dr Steve comes to a customary stop at my name, and everyone's heads swivel towards me as I answer, including Zach's.

"We have a new addition to the class, I see! Excellent! Hello, Cameron."

"Uh… Hi," I say, and give a feeble wave before grimacing and putting my hand down, and try to ignore the snigger coming from my right. "And it's just Cammie," I mumble.

"I do hope you settle in well," he continues ticking off names while talking to me, but doesn't look up, so I'm left awkwardly nodding my head. Once he's finished, he finally lifts his head and gives me an inquiring look. "Where have you moved from, Cammie? I'm quite interested."

"I… uh… moved from Detroit." If he notices the abnormal amount of 'uh's' in my sentences, he doesn't let on, but I still inwardly kick myself for sounding like a fool. Everyone probably thinks I can't speak properly… which I seemingly can't today.

"Excellent," he beams and then turns to the class. "Today we'll be starting off easy, seeing as it is the first day back and you probably aren't in a prime learning mind-set. I think we will begin with radioactivity – can anyone tell me the definition of an isotope?

xxxxx

"Psst."

A poke in the shoulder.

" _Psst_."

A poke in the side.

" _PSST_."

A poke on the arm.

I clench my pen in my hand and spin my head around to face Zach, a painfully civil smile stretched across my face as I try not to slap him. " _What_?"

"I can't do question six," he whispers sadly, pointing at his question sheet.

I stare at him blankly. "And what do you expect _me_ to do about that?"

"Help me!"

"Sure thing, let me just abandon my work and help you do the whole paper because you can't seem to do it yourself! How about… no."

"It's only one question, seriously Curtains."

I raise my eyebrows at him, indicating that I know full well question six isn't the only question he's having trouble answering, and that I don't appreciate the use of my stupid nickname. He really needs to come up with something better – if he needs anything at all, that is.. I mean, it's not as if I expect him to keep talking to me and call me nicknames. _Obviously_. I mentally wince at my jumbled thoughts and instead revert back to the matter at hand.

I gesture at his page, empty save for the date written in the top right-hand corner and a small '1' in a bubble, neatly placed in the margin. He has the decency to look a little embarrassed as he realises I know he hasn't even started, a pained expression on his face, but I just shrug and turn back to my own work, trying to ignore the fact he's still twiddling his thumbs. I feel a bit bad, but really, he should have been listening. Dr _Steve_ sprung a question sheet on us in the second period, his excuse being it was a double lesson and he didn't want to work us too hard – as if that makes any sense at all – which elicited a fair amount of grumbles from the whole room, but everyone still accepted the fact they had to do it. The incentive of no homework if it was completed during the lesson certainly ensured that the atmosphere was a working one, and add to it the fact that he'd basically given us the answers in the first lesson anyway, it really wasn't too bad.

But evidently, that wasn't the case for Zach.

"Come on, Cammie." He gives me another poke and I let out a huff of frustration.

"Zach, will you _please_ let me get on? Just use your peanut-sized brain for one second; I'm sure you'll be able to think of a suitable enough answer."

"Is everything alright there, Cammie?" I hear a voice say tetchily. I look to the front of the room to see Dr Steve staring at us, and give him a forced smile.

"Just peachy!" I wave my hand through the air. Zach's loud snort can't even be missed by Dr Steve, however, and Dr Steve gives me a testy look as I try to elbow Zach discreetly. Needless to say, I don't succeed in the subtleness department, and overshoot my aim so my elbow ends up connecting with the edge of the table. I inhale sharply and wince in pain, feeling like I just got shot.

"Make sure you're getting on," he says suspiciously.

"Yes, Dr Steve," I manage to get out, my elbow still throbbing. I throw Zach the dirtiest glare I can muster while trying to avoid the interested looks we're getting, and try to go back to question nine – only one away from the end, hallelujah. But just as I put pen to paper, he has to go and open his big mouth again.

"Cammie?" he whispers, almost hesitantly.

"What now?" I say wearily. "Why can't you understand the meaning of shut the hell up?"

He gives me a wounded look, but I can see he's a little hurt and I hurriedly backtrack, feeling cruel. I suppose it's not exactly his fault he can't answer the questions – but why he took the advanced placement class is beyond me.

"I'm sorry," I mutter. "Just…" I pause, feeling my resolve weaken as he looks at me expectantly, a hopeful light in his eyes. "Okay, _fine_ ," I sigh resignedly. I hold out my hand for the question sheet and he wordlessly passes it to me under the desk, away from Dr Steve's occasional glances in our direction. Luckily, our whispered conversation isn't too conspicuous, as Dr Steve doesn't really mind chatter as long as the work gets done, and the majority of the class are holding their own conversations, including, I note mentally, Liz the blonde who got Zach's mystery Jonas note, and her beautiful friend Bex.

"Alright." I rummage around for a pencil and then lightly write down the first five answers next to the questions. When he sends me a look clearly asking why I haven't done them all, I hand him back the paper and scowl.

"I can't do them all!" I whisper shout. "It'll be too obvious and besides, you need to do your own work or else you won't learn anything, which is what you're here to do, are you not? I'll talk you through the others, if you want." I add the last part on reluctantly and he narrows his eyes at me.

"Well, thanks for being so generous," he replies sarcastically. "But I don't need you to patronize me. I can do it myself."

I stiffen. "I just helped you. Stop being so damn rude and accept the help you asked for, Zach."

He gives me a long look, and then sighs. "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. Forgive me?" He looks at me apologetically, giving me the puppy-dog eyes and even pouting, and I concede, slightly surprised.

"Forgiven," I say begrudgingly. He just gives me a winning smile and goes back to his work, writing down the answers I gave him and then continuing on. I notice that he doesn't copy the ones I wrote word for word, instead adding more detail and changing it, carefully writing out each answer neatly on the lines. This surprises me more than it should, and I can tell that, contrary to my primary opinion, he actually does care about his work. He cares more about presentation than I do, too. I glance at my messy handwriting and then at his almost elegant script, and grumble mentally. So unfair.

The bell rings for the end of class just as I get the last question finish, and I hurry to stuff everything in my bag and hand in my work. But I feel a hand latch onto my upper arm and turn, startled, to see a pair of brilliant green eyes boring into mine.

"Hey, Curtains? Thanks."

"Don't mention it," I say, blinking. He walks off with nothing more than a wink in my direction, dropping off his work onto the pile at the front desk and striding out through the door. I distinctly hear a few sighs emitted when he passes a group of girls stood near the door, and roll my eyes as I exit the classroom.

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 **A/N Hope you all enjoyed that! I'm worried all my chapters are short... I'm sorry! I can just never find enough to write about, I guess. -_- Anyway, regarding future updates: from now on, they will be weekly (which isn't much of a change, because duh, have you noticed my slow recent updates?) I have yet to decide a day. This will be because, brace yourselves: SCHOOL STARTS TOMORROW. UGHHH I'm soooooooooooooooo sad and annoyed and irritated about that fact. I want more holidays! It doesn't help I basically dislike MANY people in my school. Anyway, I'm entering GCSE year so I'll have a lot of work, but don't worry, I am not going to abandon this story, even though I don't really have a good track record with that. I really want to finish it, as I haven't actually finished one before *embarrassed face* But updates should (fingers crossed) be regular.**

 **Also, does anyone watch Downton Abbey? Because I recently started watching it and I am OBSESSED.**

 **Anyway, let us proceed to review responses!**

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 **BooksLover2000: You are almost always my first reviewer, so thank you! I'm glad the length was good and I will not disclose any information regarding Adam and Michaela but... you may have been correct *wiggly eyebrows* xx**

 **TeenageGallagherGirlSpy: Yes, very interesting, no?**

 **LifeisGoode: Well, I do like it :)**

 **aquagallghergirl-falloutboy: Haha, thanks! I do try :) Yes, a lot of people think that! I hope this chapter makes Zach seems a little nicer? Also, I can't help but notice your username - I really like Fall Out Boy! What's your favourite song?**

 **HippieGuru: I honestly love your little rhymes. Haha, glad you didn't though, that may have been a little awkward to explain ;) Thank you!**

 **OhNobody: That means a WHOLE LOT SO THANK YOUUU.**

 **miaadventure: YES HE ISSS haha ;)**

 **fanficlover4602: Yes, you can freak out! Freak out as much as you wanttttttt! Adam is so cute, I do admit. I'm so happy you like it! You review every chapter with unwavering enthusiasm, so you are too awesome.**

 **Guest: Yay! Thank you so much! Yes she does, everyone's realised it haha. And I think this chapter answers your Bex, Macey, Liz question? :)**

 **x2INFIN3TY-B3YONDx: Boy, your username took me a while to write, I had to keep checking it against your review! Yesss, Michaela and Adam are really cute, and I think they could be... Cadam? Adam is super cute, but I hope Zach has redeemed himself a tiny bit this chap? And don't disintegrate into nothingness, how would I ever explain THAT? ;) Thank you xx**

 **TheAsylumEscapee: YOU'RE WELCOME! So glad you liked it! Don't apologize, I certainly don't mind about excitement :)  
**

 **gabergirl: Thank you!**

 **: :) That's a good 'wow', right?**

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 **THANK YOU SO MUCH TO ALL MY REVIEWERS, AND MY REGULAR ONES, AND ALL OF YOU, YOU'RE ALL GEMS. Wish me luck for school tomorrow! #verysadtimes**


	9. The Brigade

**A/N Love you guys for all your wonderful support! I reached 100 reviews. I never thought that I'd get that many. It's a huge number for me - so thank you massively! And also: I'm so sorry for the later than late update!**

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 **The Brigade**

Seeing as I couldn't find my locker this morning, I just head straight to my next lesson, art, which is situated all the way on the second floor. There is a break of some sort between periods two and three, but five minutes is only long enough to get to your next lesson and get your books from your locker, not to meet up with your friends and preferably eat something.

The thought of all those stairs has me wishing for an elevator or at least the gift of flight. I haul my bag more securely onto my shoulder as I weave my way through the still over-packed corridor, swarming with students on their way to their next lessons, and I check my timetable one last time as I slowly make my way up the staircase up to the second floor. By the halfway mark, I'm feeling disturbingly out of breath, and I silently pray that no one I know i.e. Zach or Adam, will see me. As I emerge onto a mercifully empty landing-type area, the bell rings and I breathe a sigh of relief. I make my way towards the room clearly marked S22, with "Art Department" painted above the door in swirling blue letters. I peek through the window in the door quickly before going in, and spot a couple of people sat at large tables, while others loiter and gather up what they need. Smiling to myself at the thought of an hour and forty minutes of pure bliss, I open the door and walk in.

For the first time that day, nobody swivels round or stares at me, and I instantly relax, taking time to study the room. It extends over a huge expanse of space, a studio of sorts with two slanted ceilings meeting in the middle and two sets of four tall panelled glass windows on either side of the room, each with an added glass door opening out onto a roof-top balcony overlooking the sweeping school fields. Over at the far end of the room, I can see another entrance and in the corner, a computer area equipped with a giant printer. Closer towards me is a small zone with narrow tables in rows and sewing machines set out on top of them, baskets of fabric scraps placed to the side of the little working area. The room is already buzzing with the hum of the sewing machines and the scraping of chairs, the soft rustle of paper and card and even the sharp, almost tangy scent of turpentine reaches my nose.

I see a tall woman talking to a short blonde-haired girl by the drying racks, and I hurry towards them because that has to be the teacher, with her school-issued compulsory teacher lanyard haphazardly thrown around her neck. As I approach, I make out a very familiar pair of glasses on a very familiar face, and smile at Michaela as she glances towards me and gives a small happy wave. The serious look on the teacher's face diminishes as she spots me coming towards them, and she calls me over.

"Miss Morgan! Miss Cavanagh has just told me about you. Come here, please."

A little alarmed, I walk closer and stop a few feet away from her, and Michaela gives me a reassuring smile. The woman seems nice enough; she gives off an aura of eccentricity and wisdom, and I immediately like her. She impatiently brushes her grey-streaked copper hair out of her face as she gives me shrewd look through her thick-rimmed burgundy glasses.

"Miss Morgan," she says. "I am Ms. Garraway. You will be partnered with Miss Cavanagh this year – she made a very convincing case, but make note that I do not have favourites." She turns away abruptly, but not before I hear her say, "I only have _better-liked_ students."

I stand there a little bemused as Michaela gives me a pleased look. She ushers me towards a large desk in the corner of the room, and when I get closer, I can just make out a small table hidden around a display screen. I let out a snort as I see it. The table is covered in a red-and-white gingham cloth and on it sits a spotty kettle and a box labelled "Fox's Assorted Biscuits." At least eight different patterned mugs litter the table top, and I raise my eyebrows at Michaela.

"Did choosing this table have anything to do with the fact that we had food supplies practically at arm's length? Is all of this really Ms. Garraway's?"

"Really, you have no faith in me at all," she smirks. I roll my eyes. "And yep, it's Garry's. She has about eight cups of tea a day – and that's just at school."

"… Garry?" I ask a little disbelievingly.

"She doesn't know we call her that, just so you know," she warns me.

"Alright," I laugh. "Hey, what was this about making a 'convincing case'"?

"Oh don't mind that, she likes to exaggerate. I just told her how you don't have any friends yet except from myself and Adam, so I want you to sit with me," she shrugs.

"Oh. Thanks." I smile at her, even though I'm a little embarrassed.

"Plus she likes me, so she wouldn't really mind anyway," she grins.

"Are you one of her, 'better-liked' students, Michaela Cavanagh?"

"Might be I am," she whispers, leaning forward and pretending to look around in fear.

"Okay, okay, you goofball."

" _Goofball_?"

I shrug innocently as I pull out the chair opposite from where she's sat, and watch her amusedly. She huffily pulls out a large charcoal set from her bag, as well as, after many seconds of furtive glancing around, an extra-large Little Miss Princess travel mug.

"And what exactly is that for?"

She just smiles winningly at me and shoots off to the tea-table, flicking the switch on the kettle as if she's done this plenty of times before. From the way the table is positioned, it's impossible to see her from Ms. Garraway's desk. She starts pouring freshly boiled water out the kettle and plops in a large English Breakfast Tea teabag, adding two sugar cubes, and hurrying back to her place while screwing the lid back on – all with the skill of a tea smuggling pro.

"Aren't you going to get a biscuit to go with that?" I suggest, trying not grin and failing.

She looks at me scathingly, rolling her eyes. "Oh, shush."

xxxxx

"What about her?" I ask, nodding towards a brown haired girl at the sewing machines.

"That's Tina Walters. She thinks nobody knows that she's the leading writer of the school's gossip page; obviously, she's clueless. _I_ know. But she's harmless, really. Just don't get up to anything too scandalicious – the editions with the juicy stuff are always the ones that sell out fastest. And trust me, you don't want to be on the receiving end of this school's Bitch Brigade."

"Bitch Brigade?" I laugh. "Tell me more, please. And oh, I don't think we need to worry about _that_ being a problem. But tell me: have you ever featured on this infamous page?"

"Of course not! What do you take me for?" she says, offended. At the sight of my raised eyebrows, she sighs dramatically. " _No_ , I haven't. God, you don't trust anything I say."

"At least now I know you don't have any _scandalicious_ stories of the past that I should be aware of," I grin.

She waves away my comment and ponders something for a minute, before leaning forward a little, beckoning for me to do the same. "Wanna know about the Bitch Brigade?" she whispers excitedly, like I'm in for a treat.

"Please, begin, Master."

"Alright, alright, tone it down a bit," she grumbles. "Let's start with the basics, okay? First of all we have Penelope D'Arcy: the leader of the Brigade. They call her… _Penny_." She says this as if it's something horrifically abnormal, and I stare at her confusedly before deciding to just accept it.

"Penny?" I repeat, with a shiver of hopefully what looks like disgust.

"Mhm. She's evil, I tell you. Just wait. She's hella rich, hella hot, and helluva bitch."

"Something tells me she's all mile-long legs and no brain."

"I wish," she mutters darkly. "She's got beauty and brains, that as well as being good at sport. Can it get any worse?"

I feel a spark of irrational dislike towards this Penelope 'Penny' D'Arcy, but can you blame me? She's one of _those_ girls.

"What does she look like?" I ask apprehensively. "I need to be prepared – wouldn't want to run into her or anything, right?

"We can't satisfy her want of power and intimidation, Cam. I don't want to scare you or anything, you just need to know what you're dealing with if you come across her anytime soon."

"Okay."

"So. Long red hair. Stupid big green eyes. Pale skin. Tall but not all gangly. And her favourite accessory of the past few years: Mr. Zachary Asshole Goode."

I look up at her when I hear his name and I feel a flicker of quickly quelled interest. Of course the queen bee would be together with the king wasp – or whatever it's called. Could it _get_ any more cliché? Next she'll be telling me they're one of those couples that seriously need to DTR.

"They've broken it off and got back together so many times even I want to know about it," she groans, looking like she's committing a crime by caring who's with who.

"One of those girls, and one of those couples. Of course," I sigh irritably.

"Yup," she says in a business-like tone. "Now, Bitches No. 2 and 3: Cara Ronin and Isabelle Ellis. Penelope's two wing-women. All you need to know about them is that they can't tell the difference between pea soup and cleansing mint scrub."

"And you know that how?" I ask bemusedly.

"Tried it," she shrugs. "Swapped the contents when they were doing gym and I was 'ill'."

"Trust you to do that," I sigh, shaking my head and restraining a laugh.

She smiles and shrugs again. "And there you have it, Cammie Morgan. The Bitch Brigade."

"So it only consists of three people?"

"Don't underestimate the power of three," she warns. "They can be lethal. Put Penelope's viciousness with the other two's nasty dumbness, and you have yourself a very effective and freshman-scaring trio of witches."

"Duly noted."

"Better be. Wouldn't want you to run afoul of them, and I've decided I like you so I'm not going to leave you to find out the hard way."

"I appreciate it," I say teasingly. She just grins at me and goes back to her charcoal portrait, which is looking more incredible by the second; my impressionist seascape pales in comparison. A comfortable working silence descends upon us and I feel infinitely grateful that I met her at the diner.

After around a quarter of an hour, the jar of water I'm using to clean my paintbrushes is getting so cloudy with paint that I finally have to acknowledge it. I've been studiously ignoring its slowly dirtying state, somehow feeling that if I did so, the cleaning fairies would come and clean it for me. But now I have to face the five meter walk to the sink to get some more water as its way too murky to use anymore. I push out my chair slowly and look towards the sink to make sure it's empty, grabbing the jar. Unluckily for me, however, it's not – a striking girl with jet black hair and perfect makeup is stood there, clearing her palette and brushes with what can only be turps – the strong odour drifts towards me, stinging my nose. She doesn't have a speck of paint on her skin, though, while I've got splodges all over my fingers and under my nails, and I'm pretty sure I got a streak of blue in my hair at some point too. I sit back down nervously and poke Michaela's hand, careful not to startle her so her drawing doesn't get messed up. I know better than anyone how annoying it can be when you're jolted out of that blissful drawing zone by an inconsiderate poker.

"Hey, who's that?" I ask, pointing discreetly towards the girl at the sink as Michaela glances up at me.

She blinks dazedly a few times and then follows the direction of my finger. "Oh, her? That's Macey McHenry."

I'm unable to tell by her tone if this is a good thing or a bad thing, so I nudge her again.

"Well, who is she? Not an unmentioned member of the Bitch Brigade, I hope?"

"Huh. Well, she used to be."

"What do you mean? Are you allowed to just leave the Brigade? I'd have thought there was some unbreakable vow of commitment and an initiation ceremony."

"There probably is, to be honest," she says. "But no. She's… alright, I guess. She's never done anything to me directly, but I know she used to be quite the horror. Something happened between her and Penelope during junior year, though, and she left that little group. She became friends with Bex Baxter and Liz Sutton, and she changed a _lot_."

"By which you mean…?"

"I don't know, really. I think she just realised how shallow she'd been, and what a bitch she'd been as well. All three of them are complete opposites, but at the same time they're not. Bex is nothing short of badass, Liz is the biggest genius since Einstein, and Macey's smart and pretty sassy. You'd think they'd all hate each other – apart from Liz, I don't think she has a hating bone in her body – but they get along better than anything and everyone loves them. Even I like them, which is really saying something," she adds, laughing. I recognise Macey McHenry's friends' names, remembering the two girls in chemistry and the paper aeroplane Zach threw the blonde one.

"So basically… I don't need to run in the opposite direction if she talks to me?"

"Nope." She smiles at me as she turns back to her work and I get up to refill my mucky jar.

I approach the sink a tiny bit cautiously and stand next to her. She turns to look at me interestedly almost immediately, but surprisingly enough, doesn't say anything, choosing to just give me a warm smile instead. I stand there awkwardly for a second before I proceed to empty my jar, pouring out the water. The dirty water splashes up and flecks my face, and I quickly wipe it away, looking furtively sideways to check if Macey saw. She did.

She gives a soft snort and I blush a little, embarrassedly filling my jar before turning to her properly. "Uh, I didn't get any on you, did I?"

"No, you're alright," she smirks.

"Um, good. Okay. I'm Cammie, by the way."

"Macey. You're the new girl, aren't you?" she questions.

"Yup. Seems like that's the name people have given me round here."

"Don't worry – it'll blow over. We just don't get many newcomers in Roseville. In fact, I'm pretty sure the last new person was me."

"You haven't lived here all your life?" I ask, surprised.

"No," she laughs. "Is it that hard to believe? I came here in my junior year. So trust me when I say, it'll blow over soon. All those stares and whispers is kinda annoying, isn't it?"

"You got that right," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Hey, you should come sit with us at lunch. Me and my friends, I mean. I definitely think they'll like you."

"I… uh… sure, thanks," I say, flattered. I really hope Michaela won't mind, but Macey seems nice. And I _do_ need to make friends.

"Great," she smiles. "Meet you outside here in a bit."

"Yeah," I sup press a happy smile as she turns away to go to her table at the far end of the room.

"What was that about?" Michaela asks me as I sit back down.

"I was talking to Macey. She asked me to go to lunch with her and I thought I would," I say, before catching sight of Michaela's slightly crestfallen expression and feeling instantly guilty. "If that's okay with you?" I ask worriedly.

She quickly smiles and I can't detect any falseness about it, but she still seems a little disappointed.

"Of course it is, Cam. You don't have to ask me. I'll introduce you to my friends another time, and I think Adam already knows you," she chuckles.

"Thanks." I pretend to blow her a kiss and she laughs.

"Don't _thank_ me, seriously." She rolls her eyes at me, a trademark Michaela move.

"Sorry, sorry."

"Don't get too excited about the lunch though – you've probably seen dog food that looks nicer."

"Well, there go my fantasies of a five star cuisine," I sigh.

"What can I say? Maybe they've changed it up a bit this year, though I doubt it."

"But I'm hungry," I whine.

"Just gotta deal with it, hon."

I huff and turn back to my painting, my stomach grumbling. Maybe I can smuggle one of those biscuits...

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 **A/N Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it. We finally hear about Penelope, and meet Macey. We'll soon be meeting the others and Penelope in the flesh. I can't wait to see what you think of Penelope. Sorry for the lack of maleness in this chappie, but oh well. And I'm definitely going to try for more regular updates, as it'll be easier to write the more exciting chapters (namely, if they include either Zach or Adam). But no promises! I do have a life outside fanfiction so if I don't update for a while, don't worry your awesome selves that I've forgotten - I just haven't had time. And please, please, please, don't just review 'update'. It makes me super stressed and also feels like you don't appreciate the chapter/story - I know I need to update. I'm sorry! I'm not targeting anyone, this is purely general.**

 **ANYWAY: if you liked this chapter, comment TYRION:) See ya next time... which will hopefully be soon ;) I'm going to see The Martian on Sunday and I'm so excited - have any of you seen it? I'm definitely going to buy the book. Also, might as well do a QOTD: are you doing anything nice this weekend? xx plus I apologise for any glaring mistakes.**

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 **Indigoandvioletskies: I've been busy too, so no need to apologise! Thank you very much xxx He is, isn't he!**

 **fanficlover4602: Heyyyy! How are you? I'm fine, thank you :) Your excitement is pretty adorable haha. I'm glad you like my story - and my vocab :P love ya too, you excitable reviewer xxx**

 **HippieGuru: Hello my cool rhyming friend! Thank you so much! We'll defo see the rest of the gang, and me too, I love Michaela! She's one of my favourite characters. Later Skater to you too! Ps. of course the biscuit needs you to risk it ;)**

 **OhNobody: That's so nice to hear! Thank you! You're too kind :) Don't worry, there#ll be plenty of Zammie to come!**

 **BooksLover2000: Thank youuuu**

 **Teenage Gallagher Girl Spy: Ah, it's quite an English drama series shown on the channel ITV haha. I don't think it's shown in America, or it may be, I don't know. Huehuehue is the funniest laugh ever, it's almost like onomatopoeia! I always ramble ;)**

 **Guest 1: That's amazing! I had no idea. I've made you wait like a month - I'm sorry1 Hope you liked it though, and thank you!**

 **gabergirl: Thank you!**

 **x2INFIN3TY-B3YONDx: Haha, but I'm still flattered you wanted to make a ship name in the first place! Glad you like Cadam though :) yeah, Downton Abbey is sort of a random thing to suddenly start watching, tbh. And thank you! (for both the kindness and the luck for school ;))**

 **lovewords: Thank you, you are TOO KIND! Haha, I feel ya ;) And I know! Time is definitely making fools of us. I feel like I haven't seen you in sooooo long, except we have a pretty good communication system going ;) Yay! Downton Abbeyyyy :P love it. Guess what I sent in the mail on Monday? hehehe**

 **Ah: GURL... THANK YOU!  
**

 **Guest 2: HEYyyy Sarah! Thank you for being the 101st reviewer! THANK YOU SO MUCH! I started school too, it's so stressful and there's so much to do and ugh. You are freaking fabulous too and I also don't know what that means but you are #myslayqueenalso. *virtual hugs* *virtual cookies* Love ya too gurl x**

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 **DTR means Define The Relationship if you were confused :)**


	10. A Red Haired Person

**A Red Haired Person**

After a quick pit stop at Macey's locker (still no luck with finding my own) where we drop our bags off, we make our way towards the lunchroom. Michaela assured me her friends would be waiting at their usual spot, and waved off my apologies. I still feel a little bad that I left her so readily – I need to make it up to her.

Macey and I follow the smell of school lunches as it wafts out of the cafeteria and up the main staircase; a pungent mix of onions and burned sausages insults my nose, and I let out a strangled cough.

"Are you okay?" Macey asks as we approach the cafeteria, a concerned frown on her face.

"Fine, fine," I say, grimacing. "Just, ya know…" I wave my arms around the general area.

"Uhm…" She looks confused for a few moments before understanding lights up her face as she realises what I'm practically gagging at. "Oh! Don't worry, Cammie, you'll get used to the dreaded lunch smell," she reassures me, biting back a laugh.

"Well, I do hope so," I say. "What could possibly smell so bad?"

"I think… today's the first day special!" she says mock enthusiastically.

"And that is…?" I ask, unsure whether I even want to know.

She pushes open the cafeteria doors with a flourish. "Sausages!"

Seems like I called it right; I know what I won't be having for lunch today, if the smell is anything to go by, anyway.

The cafeteria is a clamouring din of chatter and the clatter of cutlery, punctuated by laughs and shouts at odd intervals. The queue starts at the doors and leads right up to the serving area, and I can just make out half a dozen dinner ladies ladling gravy and all sorts onto plates. Thankfully, there's also a salad and sandwich bar, and with a questioning look from Macey and a confirming nod from me, we battle our way past the crowded queue towards it.

The tables are filled with teenagers from every grade. The seniors seem to have claimed the area closest to the food, and I spot Adam sat at a table with Michaela and a few others: a cute, curly-haired boy, a girl with a book propped in front of her, her skin the palest colour I've ever seen, and a girl with awesome purple hair cut in a pixie crop. They create an odd, but kind of cool, group. I must remember to go over and say hi, at the very least.

A few tables over sits the one and only Zachary Goode, his tousled dark hair and piercing eyes visible from here, surrounded by the most gorgeous guys I've ever seen – and, oh-so-surprisingly, a few girls. A girl with luscious auburn locks sits with her back to me, and I have a very niggling feeling it's none other than Penelope D'Arcy. Her hair definitely fits the description.

Macey drags me over to a table where a dainty blonde and a tall mocha-haired girl are sitting. I presume this is Liz and Bex, so I pull up a smile and follow Macey.

"Hey, guys, thanks so much for waiting," she says to them sarcastically. "This is Cammie – she's new." She smiles at me encouragingly and I give the two girls an awkward wave.

"Hi."

"Hi, Cammie," Liz says warmly, before turning to Macey indignantly. "Hey, don't blame me!" she says, putting her hands up in the air. "Bex was so hungry, she said she could, and I quote, 'eat five cows and a dinosaur and still have room for a large chocolate cake.'"

She rolls her eyes at me and I snort with laughter at the ridiculous exaggeration, unable to help myself. Bex, however, carefully places her huge baguette on her plate, looks up with a frown and gives me a speculative look, effectively shutting me up. However, I do notice a slight hint of mischief in her eyes.

"I was hungry, goddamnit. Can't a woman eat in peace around here?" she grumbles.

"Yeah," Macey replies, dragging out the word. "And I don't have a problem with you _eating_. Just don't go all cavewoman on us like you did when we went to the diner last week, okay?"

"Yeah, right," Bex replies, scoffing. "As if I was the only one." She leans towards me and whispers, "Hi, Cammie. Macey ate two large burgers and a deluxe basket of fries, and still had room for a giant milkshake and a Nutella pancake."

"Oh, shut up, you," Macey says, chuckling, a slightly embarrassed expression on her face.

"Pretty impressive, Macey," I laugh.

"Impressive, my arse. It's downright unfair!" Bex complains. "She ate all that and let me tell you that afterwards, there was _no_ food baby in sight."

"Fo-food baby?" I ask, almost choking on my laughter. "Okay, I agree – that is totally unfair."

A smile engulfs her face and she shrugs, going back to her half-eaten baguette. "Go get some food, you guys. Liz and I will wait for you. You're making me hungry just by looking at your plate-less hands."

Liz nods in agreement and I smile. They're so _nice_. I have to admit, I was a little worried about Bex, but I needn't have been. I grab a plate at the salad counter and get a baguette, inspecting the insides and concluding that it has cheese inside. I find myself wishing for pizza or anything else – but I guess I'll just have to deal.

The cafeteria, if possible, has become even more packed in the last few minutes, and it's difficult to get out of the throng gathered around the sandwiches. I resort to elbowing a few people and using the power of pushing. I'm pretty sure I even step on a few expensively clad toes. I hurry back to the table and slump down on my chair. Macey has already returned from the battlefield.

"That was intense," she says.

"Tell me about it," I respond, a little shocked.

As I'm tucking into my lunch, Liz looks up from her French novel and looks at me inquiringly.

"So, Cammie – where did you move from?"

"Detroit. I definitely find myself wishing for some cooler weather," I smile.

"I can imagine," she replies. "Have you met anyone else here, apart from us?"

"Yeah, I have – Do you know anyone called Michaela Cavanagh, Adam Jones or Zachary Goode?" I throw the last name in there just to see their reaction: I'm pretty sure they'll have heard of him.

Bex and Macey's heads shoot right up at the mention of Zach's name, and Liz's eyes widen.

"Yes, I do know Michaela and Adam – not well, but they seem pretty cool. But how do you know Zach?" Macey asks, astonished.

"He, uh… he's my next door neighbour."

"That idiot never mentioned anything!"

"Are you… friends with him?" I ask apprehensively. I don't know why this makes me nervous, but I remember Adam telling me Zach wasn't too great, and even though I'd interacted with already – a few times to many, might I add - I didn't want to encounter him if I didn't have to. These three seemed nice, but how could they be friends with such an irritating dumbass?

"I suppose. Bex here, she goes out with his best friend Grant, and it's only a matter of time before Liz ends up with Jonas – we've been trying to get them to admit they like each other _forever –_ and I think we're almost there."

Liz glares at Macey, two spots of bright pink splashing her pale cheeks. "Oh, really? And what about your crush on Preston?"

Macey huffs in response. "That is irrelevant – and I do not have a crush on him!"

"Sure," Bex sniggers, and Liz smiles smugly.

I raise my eyebrows. "Hm… You three sure need to tell me what's gone down these years I haven't been here. I'm all curious now."

Liz cuts in before either Macey or Bex get the chance.

"Basically," she begins, a mischievous smile curling her lips, making her look like an evil, beautiful fairy. "Back in the days of sophomore year, our dearest Bex had the hugest crush on the blond haired Greek god named Grant Newman. They'd been friends for ages, but Bex's feelings went far beyond innocent friendship."

"Hey! That is so not true, Liz!"

"No interruptions, Bex." She wags her finger. "Let me take the credit for you two getting together – you know I deserve it."

" _Fine_ ," Bex mutters. "I am so gonna get you back for this." Macey just laughs at the expression on Bex's face, and I pretend to be engrossed in Liz's 'tale'. It's way too fun winding her up.

"Where was I? Ah, yes," Liz continues. "Little did fifteen year old Bex she know that Grant felt the same way – he'd even told her best friend Liz how he felt about Bex – Macey hadn't arrived yet – unable to keep them to himself. He could hardly tell his best friend Zach, who meant well but would probably end up mashing their heads together and start shouting 'kiss!' So, Liz waved her magic fairy godmother wand, had a little input from Grant's friends, and came up with the perfect solution: lock them in a room during Zach's sixteenth birthday party, disconnect the bulbs and make them stay in there until the party-goers heard the unmistakeable sounds of a make out."

She gives a very self-satisfied smirk and then grins widely at her furiously blushing friend. I started laughing at the word 'lock'. Macey shakes her head at them both, laughing, obviously having heard the story before. Bex glares resolutely at the table, pretending to sulk but actually fighting a chuckle. She eventually cracks a smile and swats my arm.

"Shut it, new girl," she mumbles.

A thought occurs to me. "Hey, Liz?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did Zach send you that paper aeroplane in chemistry? You don't have to tell me, if it's private," I add hurriedly, when I see her exchange glances with Bex.

"Oh, _that_ ," she says awkwardly. "Um… Well –"

"– Zach is also a member of the 'Get Liz and Jonas Together Squad'" Bex cuts in.

I let out a snicker. "Why don't you just apply the same technique she used on you?"

"We've tried," she sighs sadly. "They're both too clever for us."

"Too right we are," Liz mutters.

"You'd _think_ they wouldn't care, seeing as they're like, in love," Macey says matter-of-factly, examining the deep purple polish on her nails for chips.

"We are _not_!"

"Keep telling yourself that," Bex, Macey and I say in unison.

"Cammie! You should be on my side!" Liz says accusatorially, her face bright pink.

"And why is that?"

"Yes, Liz – why _is_ that?" Macey asks. "I mean, all Cammie has to do is see how you two lovebirds interact during _any_ time you're together and she'll know for herself. But she already believes us, so it doesn't even matter."

"And well… you kind of resemble a tomato right now, Liz," I say apologetically.

"I hate you all!" she says crossly, knowing we're right. It's so endearingly obvious how much she likes this Jonas guy. Plus, I finally get what Zach's letter was probably about.

"We love you too, hun," Bex says, patting Liz's shoulder.

"Does Zach have a girlfriend?" I find myself asking nonchalantly. The moment it escapes my lips, I groan internally.

Why did I just _say_ that?!

All three of them turn to look at me, their expressions mirroring each other's – identical looks of pity paints their faces. Macey is the one to break what she thinks is sad news.

"He's practically off-limits, Cam. The guy's a notorious player, heartbreaker, and overall gorgeous asshole."

"Don't even mention his lovely _Penny_." The three of them shudder.

"Wait, no! Guys, I don't… God, I don't like him!"

"Oh? So why are you asking, then?"

"Um… Well, to be honest, I kinda wanted to know more about Penelope D'Arcy. Isn't she, like, the leader of something called The Bitch Brigade?"

"Shut up!" Bex flaps her hands around, glancing around fearfully. "Someone might hear us!"

Liz lowers her voice before replying, and Macey keeps lookout. "Yes, she is. She is officially Queen Bitch of Roseville High, Cammie."

"And, she's on and off with Zach so much it's like she's a damn light switch," Macey adds.

Liz nods. "Macey is the fountain of all knowledge when it comes to Penelope."

"So… what do you want to know?"

"Anything, I guess. Why does everyone hate her? Why does Zach go out with someone so notoriously bitchy? I mean, the way you've described him so far, he isn't that bad."

"Cam, you don't know the half of it," Bex says sympathetically. Does she _still_ think I like him? "I think we better start off with a Zachary Goode backstory, guys, don't you?"

They all nod in agreement. Bex begins.

"Zach lives with his mum – this is all common knowledge, by the way, he doesn't do deep conversations or secret sharing. Anyway, his dad left when he was about eleven, I think. He left them for another woman, and if rumours are anything to go by, she was half his age. Understandably, Zach hasn't forgiven him. And I don't blame him. His dad tried to send him gifts, get him to come over, you know… But it never worked. The man is rolling in money, has some massive multi-million company, and sends them money regularly – but it's probably only because it's in the divorce contract.

"Mr and Mrs Goode used to run the local diner together, but when he left, it all fell to her. He took up the mantle at his father's stupid business, and left his family behind. Now Zach hates him, even though his mother has long forgiven him. Don't know how she did it, to be honest. But then again, Catherine Goode is too nice for her own good. And finally, fast forward through all the bad-boy antics and sleeping around, you get Roseville High's biggest player."

Macey continues, and I find myself leaning forward slightly, eager to know more.

"Now, onto his friends: Grant, Jonas, Preston, Nick, James and Callum. Grant is the blond hottie: he finally settled down with Bex. Jonas and Preston are somewhat the oddballs – neither of them are in the football team like the others, but they're surprisingly good friends. You wouldn't really think so, would you? Anyway, Nick. He's got curly brown hair and dimples, and he's the joker of the group. Hot and funny. James and Callum are twins: both blond, both grey eyed, both muscular. That's probably where their similarities end. James is more like Nick, loud and lovable, and Callum is far more reserved, but he isn't bad. All of them are pretty hot in their own right, though."

"Mhm. Can't argue with that," I murmur.

"Stay away from my man, girls," Bex scolds.

"Yeah, yeah," Macey says, waving her comment away with a smirk.

Liz takes up the rest of the story-telling. They really have this worked out, don't they?

"Lastly: Penelope D'Arcy. Bitch of the school. The year. The century. They started going out with each other at the end of sophomore year. By the September of junior year, they'd broken up. Back together by Halloween. Finished in April – I think that's the longest they've actually been together. _Back_ together by July. And now? Status unknown. He took out other girls so many times while they were together then dumped them like yesterday's trash, and she pretended not to notice. To be honest, I'm pretty sure Penelope was just a booty call gone wrong," she concludes.

"And there you have it, Cam," Macey says. "Zach and Penny backstory."

I notice that they omitted the part where Macey was friends with her, but I decide not to say anything. Maybe they'll tell me in their own time.

The bell rings to signal the end of lunch, and we slowly get up and empty our plates. I scan the crowd involuntarily for him, but I can't see him anywhere. It's for the best, I think. Don't want him to embarrass me, do I? I spin around to get to the others, ploughing onwards, trying to push past everyone. I vaguely register a red haired person near me. I'm just about free of the horde, when I make a fatal, _fatal_ mistake.

I trip on somebody's foot.

And the thing I grab onto to save myself from the very hard looking floor just so happens to be Penelope D'Arcy's skirt.

* * *

 **A/N Hope you all liked this! It was really fun to write, especially the ending *evil smile* MUHAHA. Hehe.**

 **Sorry for my late update though! Still trying to get a schedule going. Please R &R, and tell me what you thought about everything! It absolutely makes my day. Hope you're all having a wonderful autumn - it's my favourite season. Don't you just love the crunchy, golden leaves, the fresh, cool air, wearing snuggly scarves and cosy jumpers and reading with a cup of tea... Ah, I just love it.**

 **Until next time! xx P.S. I'm so cold right now, I have gloves on inside, as well as a sweater, socks, and fluffy slipper things. And the heater is on. I love autumn, but it's fricking _cold._**

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 **lovewords: Your reviews are always just the best! Thank you so much! Haha, I hope you like this one! Not much Michaela, but we sorta get to meet Penny ;) Your chap today was hella good today... HELLA GOOD. Hope school is okay! I wish I was sneaky enough to smuggle some tea... *sigh***

 **BooksLover2000: Thank you!**

 **Selena: Thank you and yay! I'm so glad you like it.**

 **Teenage Gallagher Girl Spy: Yep, I'm from England! Hehe, sorry for the recent lack of maleness! I don't mind the rambling, and you may be right about Michaela *ominous wink***

 **fanficlover4602: Hi! Hope you've recovered from your dying at the last chapter, lol. I'm so glad you like it! Thank you :)**

 **LifeIsGoode: Wow! Thank you so much! I read your story, I love it! I LOVE super long reviews, and I am just so happy you like it!**

 **HippieGuru: Heyyy! So glad you like it :) Ms Garraway is pretty cool, yes. Hehe, that's so nice to hear! Thanksssss and I had a very good time at the movies, thank you for saying! :)**

 **gabergirl: Thank you!**

 **.hecate: That's so great to hear - thank you!**

 **TiggerandCammieandPercy: Thank you! I was toying with the idea of doing different POVs, but I've tried it before and I can't seem to get the hang of it. It gets so disjointed, and for some reason, it just doesn't work. However, I'll let you all choose a chapter at the end of the story, which I will rewrite in Zach's POV as a special bonus chapter!**

 **Guest: Thank you! Happy you liked the intros, there's quite a lot in this chapter too... I hope it isn't to annoying!**


	11. Showdown

**Showdown**

A bone-shattering, ear-splitting, _blood-curdling_ shriek echoes throughout the cafeteria, a banshee-like scream which causes many in the vicinity to bring their hands up and shield their ears.

And then…

Silence.

Absolute, utter silence.

A thick blanket of it falls upon everyone in the cafeteria, as if some giant in the sky muted everyone's voices. Every single pair of eyes are trained on us, alternating between us: her, frantically trying to pull up her tiny black miniskirt to cover her exposed butt and the lacy black thong made visible to all. I groan mentally. And then me, the new blonde girl at her feet. I'm practically lying on the floor, one hand covered in some questionable substance found on the cafeteria floor, and the other hand…

Well, the other hand, I belatedly realise, is still clutching pathetically at the hem of her skirt. Her disgusted gaze burns craters through my skin as I let go absurdly slowly; as if any quick movement will cause her to erupt. Absolutely horrified with what's happened and anticipating my imminent slaughter, I get to my feet, my face so warm and red with mortification, it seems to be radiating heat.

I will myself to look up. There she is, standing there, her skirt finally back up to where it should be, flanked by her two cronies. My eyes travel behind them and widen in disbelief. Fate is so not on my side today – did I do something terrible in a past life to warrant this? Is this bad karma?

Behind Penelope and her girls stand… the boys. And right at the front, closest to Penelope, closest to _me_ , closest to this whole damn showdown? Yeah, you guessed it. Ten points to your Hogwarts house.

Of course it's Zachary Goode.

He's looking at me with thinly veiled amusement, mouth quirked in that insufferable smirk and eyebrows raised, shaking his head as if he can't believe what I've managed to get myself into, while still looking unsurprised that I have – if it's even possible for him to wear an expression like that. His friends are making no effort to hide their mirth at the situation either: Nick is almost crying with suppressed laughter, fist stuffed in his mouth; the one who I suspect must be James has turned away from the scene and seems to be trying to calm himself down, and Grant is trying to keep a straight face. Jonas and Preston just look appalled, sharing a look.

Neither of them, however, are annoyed about the fact that their best friend's girlfriend had just been half-undressed in front of half the school population – least of all Zach, who is (or isn't? Apparently it's hard to keep track of this relationship) the _boyfriend_ of the girl in question.

The girl's eyes are narrowed dangerously at me, her cheeks flushed angrily, her deep burgundy lips clamped shut. She's seething, and if this was a cartoon, I have no doubt smoke would be billowing from her ears. All I can do is marvel at my gobsmacking stupidity, unable to draw my eyes away from Zach's, and work up the courage to say something.

Already, phones have been withdrawn from pockets, and the bright winks of light coming from them very much indicate that this spectacle is being videoed and photographed by some vicious teenagers just waiting to put it up online. How _wonderful_.

I look everywhere for the girls, and finally spot them a little to the left of me. Liz has her head in her hands, shaking her head, Bex looks half-excited, half-terrified, and Macey has a hard look on her face, one foot forward as if she means to come and, for want of a better word, rescue me. However, when she catches my eye, I give a quick shake of my head: I don't want her to get dragged into whatever little feud I've probably started. She gives me a half-hearted smile, dragging her finger across her neck in an exaggerated motion, mouths 'Okay, but you're screwed', and then slowly steps back. Michaela and Adam are stood some way behind them, quite close to the doors as if they were just about to leave the canteen before shit hit the fan. Adam seems to be holding a very irritated Michaela's shoulder firmly, whispering something in her ear. I wonder what that's about.

Penny the she-demon finally speaks.

"What the hell is wrong with you, you little _bitch_?" she snarls.

The enormity of what I've done – namely, forced the Queen Bitch (or Bee, whichever you prefer) of the school to practically strip – hits me. I stand there, quite shocked.

"Oh my god, oh my god, I am so, _so_ sorry…"

Her hand twitches as if she'd like nothing more than to slap me, but I can only stare at her beseechingly – she _has_ to believe I didn't do that on purpose. My hands flutter about awkwardly; at one point, I even try to smooth down her skirt. She jumps back and glares at me, disgusted.

"Get your hands away from me, and _stop_ looking at me!"

"I'm sorry!" I hurriedly try to explain what happened, as it's evident she thinks I did it on purpose – although why I would do that is completely beyond me. "I-I tripped over someone's foot and you were in front of me so your, uh, skirt was the only thing I could grab onto –"

"I don't care, you fucktard," she cuts in, her voice venomous.

I stand there for a second, stunned at what she just called me. Michaela looks positively livid and Bex and Macey spring up from the tables they were resting on. I feel the anger gradually setting in, the injustice of that insult ringing in my ears.

My mouth opens of its own accord and I start speaking before I can stop myself.

"I told you, you idiot! It was an accident! I've already apologised: what more do you want me to _do_?" My hands curl up at my sides, and now that I've started, I can't seem to shut up. "I know it was stupid of me but you went too far with that one, you crazy cow."

I clamp my mouth shut before I can spew any more nonsense, and stand there, astounded. Did I just…? Yes. I think I did. I called her a crazy cow. A crazy… _cow_. One part of me is doing a victory dance. The other… well, that part is currently wishing I was on the next plane to Antarctica.

Two hundred people collectively breathe in; Macey smacks her forehead; Michaela groans; my heart drops ten million miles southwards. Even the evil people filming the exchange give me a sympathetic look, and a few people near the doors actually scarper.

Penelope steps closer, and her two companions, Bitch No.2 and Bitch No.3, follow her, wearing identical looks of distaste and shock.

" _What_ did you just say to me?" she whispers vehemently, right in my face.

I lean away from her. "N-Nothing." Great. I'm stuttering again.

"N-Nothing." she imitates, her voice high and squeaky, obviously in an attempt to recreate my own. Her hand shoots forward and she grabs hold of my wrist in a vice-like grip, her manicured talons scraping the skin. A few beads of blood bubble up on the underside of my wrist and I let out a small, quickly suppressed gasp of pain. I try to wrench myself free, but she's far stronger than she looks. She moves closer, almost twisting my wrist backwards. Nobody moves; everybody stares.

"Listen to me, you stupid little bitch," she spits. "If you _ever_ speak to me like that again, if you touch me, if you so much as _look_ at me, I'll kick you out of this school before you can even blink. Nobody crosses me and gets away with it. _Nobody_ ," she enunciates slowly, as if I'm hard of hearing and mentally slow. "You'd do well to remember that, new girl. Understand?"

She gives me a long, calculating look, before finally withholding her death-grip on my wrist. I bring it close to my chest, willing the few tears that prick the corner of my eyes to go away. But damn, that hurt. I wipe away the blood on my skin with my index finger.

"I said," she hisses. " _Understand_?"

I nod slowly at her, once, and she looks at me, seemingly satisfied.

"With the company you're keeping, I'm not surprised at your behaviour," she says offhandedly, locking eyes with Macey. Macey narrows her eyes at her, and flips the middle finger.

I'm pretty sure somebody just went 'Oooh.'

Penelope just turns away and gives a tinkling laugh, as if she's in on a joke nobody else I aware of, and draws one plum-coloured nail tip across the top of her lips. She stares at me unnervingly for a few long moments, before suddenly speaking.

"Oh, honey," she says, her voice sickly sweet and filled with fake concern. "You might want to go wash yourself up." She gestures towards the blood still leaking out on my wrist, smirking, and then swishes her curls over her shoulder and swivels round on the stiletto heel of her lace up Jimmy Choo boots.

She marches towards the boys, who are looking decidedly less amused, and hooks her arms through the elbows of her girls. The boys all look pretty much stunned. Nick has his mouth slightly open, now, and each of them step away slightly when they see her coming towards them. I spot Zach reaching out to the crazed banshee, however, and I feel a spark of hatred towards him, stemmed from my very hateful feelings at the moment. He clasps her hand in his, and although I see the small flicker of revulsion pass his face, I choose to ignore it – I refuse to acknowledge that he may feel bad, especially when he didn't do anything to stop his lovely Penny humiliating me in front of everyone. He meets my eyes, spring green pools of guilt and pity trained on mine.

I look away. It's not my fault he's with that hag.

They leave the canteen, followed closely by the rest of the boys, and the moment they leave, Bex runs towards me, Macey and Liz right behind her. The rest of the cafeteria goers slowly start to trickle out, too, leaving because all the drama is over, no doubt. I sigh deeply. What the hell have I got myself into?

"Cammie! Are you okay?" Liz gasps, checking my wrist. Bex throws her arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze.

"You handled that brilliantly, Cam. Loved the part where you called her a crazy cow," she laughs. "Except… how did you even _manage_ that?"

"Well, that bitch _is_ an exceptionally crazy cow," I mumble.

Macey lets out a bark of laughter, which sounds somewhat forced. "Tell me about it," she says darkly.

"And, to be completely honest… I have no fucking clue how I tripped and ended up yanking on her skirt and exposing her little Vicky's Secret."

Liz gives me a look tinged with sympathy, shaking her head. "Huh, well this is definitely going down as the most interesting first day of school," she murmurs to herself.

I see Michaela making her way towards us, Adam at her heels, and carefully nudge out of Bex's grasp. She gives me a slightly hurt look, but I gesture towards my approaching friends and she nods in understanding.

"Oh, right. We'll just wait for you here, then."

She glances towards Liz to confirm the decision, but Liz widens her eyes in a form of silent communication. She tilts her head towards a weirdly blank-faced Macey and shakes her head vigorously, indicating no. Bex grimaces, dawning comprehension on her face, as if the eye-widening explained it all. What's going on?

"Sorry Cam, we have to go," she frowns. "But we'll meet you at Macey's locker."

"Wait, what? Why?"

"I promise we'll explain later… just not now," she mutters, with a worried glance at Macey, who doesn't say anything and seems to now be holding in tears. I think back to her forced laugh and dark tone – something's definitely up with her.

"Anyway, it'll just be awkward if we hang around in the background. We don't really know those two that well," Liz adds. She looks at me desperately.

"Alright then…" I concede. I nod towards Macey and raise my eyebrows at Bex, telling her she better tell me what's going on with her. She mouths 'later' and gives me a warning look. It must be something to do with Penny. Liz and Bex both give a little wave, walking out of the cafeteria, Macey accompanying them like a zombie. I stare after them, confused. What just happened?

Michaela and Adam approach, so I'm spared wondering about why they left so suddenly.

"Do we smell or something?" Adam asks flippantly, pointing towards the departing girls.

"Nah," I smile. "Something was up with Macey."

"Ah," he says, pushing up his glasses. Michaela shoves him out the way, instantly taking hold of my arm and pulling my wrist towards her, inspecting it closely.

"You're okay?" she asks concernedly.

"Yes, yes – everyone needs to realise that the only thing hurt here is my pride," I say. "I mean, I did just do some very embarrassing things." The only response she gives me is a sceptical look.

"Alright, fine," I grumble reluctantly. "My wrist may also hurt a little too."

"That _stupid_ little…" Michaela mutters hotly, before turning to glare accusingly at Adam. She whacks him on the arm, and his hand flies up to rub the spot.

"Ow! What was that for, you madwoman?" he says resentfully.

"You should've let me at that psycho!"

I butt in before he can respond, and he gives me a grateful look, glad to be saved from his best friend's rage.

"Hey, while I'm very touched by your anger on my behalf, I wouldn't want you to get in that witch's line of fire. It's my fault for being so dumb. As if I actually did that..." I say, trying to wrap my head around the fact.

"What? You think I can't handle her?" she responds indignantly.

"Quite the contrary, Mi-Kay-Kay – she couldn't handle _you_." I give her a wink, feeling so much better, despite my throbbing wrist, my mortification, my confusion at Macey's behaviour, and, of course, my anger at Zachary.

She gives me a horrified look at the nickname, and Adam bursts into laughter. I crack a grin, unable to help myself at the look on her face.

"Don't you _ever_ call me that again, Cameron."

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 **A/N Thank you for all your amazing reviews, as ever, they brightened my day! I appreciate them so much. What did you all think of this chapter? I really enjoyed writing this one, it was so fun. Penelope is such a great character to write. Zach, you little betrayer! Holding her hand... tut, tut. We'll be seeing more of the rest of his little gang later on, but note that my favourites are Nick and James ;) And oh, what was up with Macey? We'll see next chappie! Please leave a review if you have time, tell me what you thought! Adios, amigos 3**

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 **childofhecate (it won't let me put the fullstops in): Hopefully this chapter will have stopped the state of being bothered that little cliffhanger created?**

 **BooksLover2000: Haha, I like all the gossippy bits too! Thank you! And ah, I know, but I do hope the drama was worth waiting for!**

 **Selena: OH my gods! Divergent is amazing, even though Allegiant's ending is not. Hope this chapter satisfied - thank you!**

 **lovewords: Thanksssss! I cannot wait for the boy drama either! I think it's gonna start soon ;) And yay, glad you liked Michaela's friends! I have a feeling the purple haired one will be my fav (after Adam, of course). As usual, your review made me smile so much! YOU'RE JUST TOO NICE TO ME.**

 **BookkWorm: Haha, hope you liked it! Was it worth being psyched over?**

 **fangirly662: Thank you! And oh, don't worry, there'll be plenty of jealousy! And I'm not sure about the twins having a thing for her, but I do like the idea... I may file it away for future use! I will be doing a bonus chapter for Zach at the end, which I'll explain more fully nearer the time.**

 **TiggerandCammieandPercy: Thank you, thank you, and thank you! Glad you get what I mean, haha I just find it a bit hard to be honest. I'm looking forward to writing that bonus chapter, too! I hope I'll do it justice :)**

 **Ella: That is so amazing! I'm so flattered you were reading this at 2:00am! I can't believe that... It's actually so weird to think people like to read my writing. So thank you! Hope you liked this update!  
**

 **LifeIsGoode: Thank you so much, oh my gosh! It means a huge amount! I'm just so glad you LIKE it! That is like the biggest compliment ever - you're way too kind! YOU KILLED ME WITH YOUR COMMENTS. It's so NICE OF YOU DAMMIT. This review made me smile like a maniac. And you're welcome :)**

 **gabergirl: Thank you! So glad you liked the little backstories, and I hope you liked this update!**

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 **HippieGuru: You amazing reviewer, you. You're too kind! I'm so happy you liked it, and I love all the friendships, so I don't mind who you prefer! Thank you so much, and oh my, I completely forgot people from other countries read my fanfiction. It's actually mind boggling. So you're in... Australia? Bye for nowww :)**

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 **nilesalt: Thank you! It's so nice to hear that people like how I've done the characters, and I'm always worried they're really two-dimensional. I have loads of improving to do, but your comment made me feel like a pro, haha! And that's what I was aiming for... So thank you!**

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 **Thank you all for your support and awesome reviewing! See ya next time :)**


	12. Diner Troubles

**Diner Troubles**

"Hey, guys," I say, approaching the girls cautiously. Macey is sat on the floor by her locker, viciously attacking the hair bobble tied around her wrist, while Bex looks like she's giving her a pep talk and Liz is helpfully offering a chocolate bar.

They swivel round at the sound of my voice. "Hey, Cammie," Macey mutters, ceasing the ruthless twanging of her bobble.

"Uh… what's going on?" I ask apprehensively. I feel like I'm imposing on their hospitality now – after all, it is only the first day and I'm only the new girl; I can't be going round asking about things which are clearly secret and clearly upsetting. "I mean… I understand if it's private. But you're okay?"

She nods absent-mindedly.

I glance towards Bex, who shrugs and promptly snatches the chocolate bar out of Macey's grasp. Macey lets out a cry of annoyance, which is naturally just ignored by Bex. Liz looks at me with an expression that seems to say 'just leave them to it.'

"That's it, Mace," she declares. "Quit dragging up stuff that happened ages ago – it's not healthy. And neither is this chocolate," she adds.

"Give me back my chocolate!" Macey exclaims.

"Nope."

"Bex, seriously."

"Na-ah," Bex replies in a sing-song voice, twirling it out of Macey's reach.

"Alright, fine!" Macey growls. She jumps to her feet, somehow still managing to look graceful, and glares at Bex. She holds out her hand expectantly, but is only met with a shake of the head and a reproving finger-wag.

"I think Cammie needs to know why you just went and ditched her in front of her other friends. Don't you?"

"Oh, no, it doesn't matter. I don't need to know," I say quickly. "I don't want to… intrude."

"No," Macey says. "She's right. I shouldn't have done that."

Liz looks on owlishly. "All joking aside, guys: Cammie should know anyway. Considering what, or should I say who, it's about."

Bex murmurs in agreement, and Macey gives a nod of assent. I feel curiosity sparking inside me as Liz gives a long sigh.

"Looks like it's story time again, Cammie."

"When I moved here, the first person I made friends with was Penelope. I was part of the Bitch Brigade, if you want to think of it that way. She was… nice to me, I guess. I didn't know anyone, and what could be better than the Queen Bee taking you under her wing. She knew all the boys, the parties, the things to be doing. So of course I wasn't going to object. I thought she was kind, I thought she was such a good friend – I was so wrong, I can't even tell you.

"She had home problems, stuff with her parents. She never really showed how much it affected her, apart from a couple of times – but when it got to her, it _really_ got to her. She'd go to any and every party, get drunk to the point of passing out, get through so many boys even she would lose count; that was her way of coping, I guess. I didn't really question it – it wasn't my business, you know? I was just as horrible as her at times – worse, even. I'm definitely not proud of it. But then… she started going out with Zach."

She pauses for breath here, a dark look on her face; I look at her confusedly. What's wrong with her going out with Zach?

She notices my confused expression and grimaces, running a hand over her face to steel herself for something. "I had a crush on Zach," she finally says. My mouth makes a small 'O' of surprise. I was not expecting that.

"Inevitable, really, if you think about it. He always hung around with us, who'd be able to resist? No worries now though – I am so over that dumbass. He's just a friend." She says this in a reassuring tone, and I yet again get the feeling that she thinks I like Zach. She couldn't be more wrong.

"The thing is, Cammie, dearest Penny knew exactly about my embarrassing little crush. She told me she wouldn't tell anyone, she would never make a move on him – and I actually trusted her! I thought she'd keep my silly crush secret, that she'd honour the girl code. That didn't happen, obviously.

"We were at some party, and she just launched herself at him. Started eating his face off right in front of me. At first I thought it was somehow a mistake, but you really can't get any clearer than a full make-out session between your supposed best friend and your crush. I, of course, soon realised that she had the intention of snagging him for herself all along. What made it worse was the fact he knew. She'd told him, and god, was it _embarrassing_. He looked at me, pitiful and sympathetic, big green puppy eyes, and I know it wasn't his fault but I still remember wanting to punch his gorgeous face in."

I find myself nodding in understanding, fully appreciative of that feeling – I'd been on the receiving end of that look, too. And I also recognised that desire to punch him.

"'Course, I confronted her after. She laughed right in my face and said how Zach would never have me anyway. Load of shit about how she hated me, how I was stealing her friends away, stealing her little Zachy. It pretty much turned into a bitch fight – what do you expect when you have the two biggest bitches of the school? And then lo and behold, Macey McHenry was friendless. After that little back-stabbing fiasco, I was a little low. I've always moved around a lot, and the only time I thought I'd made an amazing friend – excluding present company – she turned out to hate me. Great, right?"

"That's when Liz and I swooped in with welcoming arms, allowed her to renounce her Bitch Brigade vows and she entered our awesome group," Bex adds smugly.

"That's awful, Macey," I say, shaking my head. "I'm actually convinced she's a member of a demon cult."

Macey laughs lightly, shaking her head. "To be honest, I'm over it. Just… her latching onto you like that, I felt like it was my fault, and then seeing Adam again… I kinda just remembered everything," she says apologetically.

I smiles reassuringly. "It is _not_ your fault, Macey. Though there is one thing I don't get – actually, two things – why would seeing Adam make things worse? And aren't you all friends with Zach and his gang? How did that happen?"

Macey high cheekbones tinge pink, and she tucks her hair behind her ear. "Adam, well… Adam and I used to go out. We broke up because of Penelope, can you believe it – some story about him and Zach, and Penelope featured somewhere in the problem. He wouldn't tell me what it was, and sue me, but I was a little curious. What I found out about it wasn't too great though. And then he got the wrong end of the stick and thought I was doing stuff behind his back, which I _wasn't_. It wasn't a very healthy relationship, to be honest – I was still pretty much a bitch, and he was still angry over his fight with Zach. It's awkward between us, even now – we never really patched things up too well."

"What-what happened between Zach and Adam?" I ask, curiously. The mention of something between them reignites something in my memory: Adam telling me why I shouldn't get close to Zach. But I'm sure he said something about being bullied – nothing like the story I've just heard.

She shrugs apologetically. "I'd tell you if I could, Cam. But I don't even know myself. They won't talk about it, and asking either of them is like inviting a shark to bite your head off. All I got was from Tina Walters, you know, the editor of the gossip column in our school magazine – she said something about cheating. The typical stupid thing that everyone laps up because it's the latest juicy 'goss'," she says, and I can detect a trace of bitterness in her voice.

"Huh." I reflect. "And I thought girls were dramatic."

"That's Zach for you," Bex comments drily. "He's Grant's best friend, and I don't mind him too much myself. But boy, is he a pain in the arse."

"Got that right," I mutter gloomily.

xxxxx

I flop down unceremoniously on my bed, revelling in the softness of the mattress and the fluffiness of my comforter. It's… Friday!

Please refrain from bursting into song.

I flick my unfocused gaze up to the digital clock on my nightstand, and see that it's 17:37. I have my diner shift in twenty-three minutes. Just enough time to call my parents and have a quick shower. They were going to call on the first day, but they had so much work that we resorted to a few texts to and fro before they were called in for another stupid meeting. At least I didn't have to brush off the 'So how _was_ it?' questions over the phone – mom would've have recognised my apparent lying voice before I'd even said 'Fine.' All it took was a happy emoji and mother was pleased. I couldn't contemplate even attempting to get into the lunchtime fiasco, and quite honestly, I would never tell her what happened anyway. At all. Ever. That embarrassment and mortification can be taken with me to the grave.

My phone starts ringing, as if on cue, and I pick up, glancing at the caller ID. As expected, it comes up with the photo I snapped of my parents when they weren't looking: dad's arms slung lazily over mom's shoulder, with matching grins and freckled (or in dad's case, kind of sunburnt) skin, and cheap 'I Heart Paris' hats perched on their heads – the standard tourists. Both of them were holding melting ice-creams, mom only just realising hers was steadily dripping onto her shoe. We'd gone to Paris, back when my parents weren't always swamped with work and we could actually go places.

I touch the green telephone icon and instantly hear a loud burst of noise from the other side, an odd mixture of loud television and beeping.

"Cammie!" she exclaims by way of greeting. "I'm so sorry we haven't been able to call!"

I smile at the sound of her voice. "It's okay, mom. You've had a lot to do. How're you and dad?"

"We're fine sweetheart – what about you? How's school? Have you made friends?"

"Mhm. I already told you when I messaged you, it's been really great." Even to my ears, this sounds far too bright and fake.

"Sure," she says, and I can just imagine the way she tilts her head and raises one eyebrow. "Now, tell me what's actually wrong."

I sigh. "Ugh. I don't know, mom..." I run a hand through my hair tiredly. "I just wish that I wasn't alone here, you know?" I finally say.

There's a crackle on the other end before she replies, probably from her switching the phone to her other ear. "Oh, honey. I'm sorry we can't be there with you." She sounds so sad that I feel bad for even bringing anything up.

"Don't be," I say genuinely. "But… you'll be home soon, right?"

"Of course," she says, hesitating slightly. Just by at slight pause, I know she is lying - but I don't let her know it. "Would you like to talk to dad?" she asks, her initial happiness a little dimmed.

"Yeah, sure," I say, trying to sound casual. I don't want her to realise how much it's disappointed me to realise they still won't be home soon. After a small pause and a few muffled words, I hear his voice.

"Hey, Cam. You been okay? Mom said you're finding it a little tough."

I roll my eyes; typical mom. "No, I am not finding it _tough_. I just miss you guys. It's so, well, I guess… sorta lonely."

"But you told us you'd made friends!"

"And I have. They're great. But being in this house all by myself - I can't even _cook_ \- isn't that easy, dad."

"I know," he says, and I know that if he was here, he'd ruffle my hair and give me the smile he only reserves for me. "But you know what? I know you'll settle in just fine in a matter of days. Go on that Internet you're always on and find some recipes. You work in a diner don't you? Ask someone there!"

"I will," I say, feeling a little better. "Hey, what's that beeping noise?" I ask curiously, referring to the noise in the background that is still going on.

"Oh, _that_. Your mom left something in the microwave too long, some sort of pasta ready-meal I think, It's smoking everywhere and the kitchen stinks. Be glad you can't smell it," he laughs. "Between you and me, your mom is a terrible cook," he whispers.

"And I wonder why I'm so bad at it," I grumble good-naturedly.

"I can hear you, Matthew!" I hear mom's muffled shout from the other end of the line. "You'll regret that, dear."

"Yeah, yeah," dad says innocently. He pauses for a second before mumbling something.

"Sorry, what? I didn't hear you, Daddy."

"Any… boys I should know of?" he asks again, rather gruffly.

"Daddy, please," I reply, torn between embarrassment and amusement. "You know the answer to that question." In the background, I hear an exasperated ' _Matthew'._ He seems to take the phone away from his ear and replies, saying something about 'just checking' and 'where's the harm in that' before coming back on.

"That was your mom. Sorry 'bout that." She thinks I'm being 'unnecessarily nosey'," he imitates, putting on a high voice. I hear mom retort in the background yet again, and smile to myself. I don't think I realised how quiet everything is when I'm on my own.

"Oh, dad," I say quickly, glancing at the clock. "I'll call you soon, okay? I've got to go to work, it's at six."

"Alright, Cammie. Call us if you need anything. Enjoy!" Mom calls out bye too and I shout it back before hanging up, a little reluctantly.

I hunt around my wardrobe for the diner uniform and then hurriedly pull it on – I don't have time for a shower. I scoop my hair up into a bun, not stopping to look in the mirror as I quickly tie the laces on my scuffed white Converse and run out the door. Yet again, I've managed to cut it very close, as I open the diner door at exactly 5:59. A warm blast of air hits me, scented with fresh cooking and embellished with the ever-present sixties music. I pass Arnold on the way into the kitchens, yelling out a quick hello. I just register that the place is full to bursting, with the chatter and clanking of plates reaching an all-time high before I close the kitchen doors behind me and am met with a different kind of chaos.

As I make my way towards my workplace, I think morosely how on the other side of those doors, people from my school will be enjoying the end of the week, partying or coming here with their friends. I, on the other hand, am stuck cooking for them, and bearing in mind how I can't even cook well... Let's just hope there's nobody I know.

A waitress quickly drops a hastily scribbled order on my worktop, a girl by the name of Blue. I recognise her as the purple-haired girl who was sat with Michaela and Adam during _that_ lunchtime, and give her a tentative smile. She gives me a wan one in return.

"Good luck with that order – Arnold said you had to deliver it to the table."

"Why?" I ask, alarmed. "Why do I have to deliver it? Isn't there anyone else? I thought I was just cooking today."

She jerks her head toward the door. "See for yourself," she says, almost pityingly. "Table Eleven."

I go back to the doors and stand on my tip-toes, peering apprehensively through the small glass windows on them. I have to crane my neck sideways to catch a glimpse of table eleven; when I see it, cold dread curls in my stomach.

It's her.

 _Her_.

The she-demon.

The crazy cow.

 _Penelope_.

"Is this a _joke_?" I whisper to myself, aghast.

Blue comes up behind me and pats my shoulder. "It was nice knowing you."

"But-but… can't you take the order to them?"

"Trust me," she frowns. "I want to help you, and I would, but Arnold has me on that kiddies table over there." She points grimly towards the far corner of the diner, where two tables have been put together and are currently accommodating eight hyperactive children. One of them, a boy with brilliantly ginger hair and a large 'I'm Six Years Old Today!' badge on his front, is climbing on his chair and yodelling loudly at the top of his voice. His mother, a woman in her early-thirties with her hair scraped back into a chignon and wearing a pristine salmon-pink evening dress, sits primly on the edge of her chair, smiling at her son proudly.

"I just gotta smile," she says to herself, breathing deeply. "Otherwise, I don't know if I'll slap the woman, the kid or myself."

As I watch my last, vibrant-haired hope walk away from me, I let out a groan of despair. What am I going to _do_? I haven't had any contact with Penelope, Zach, or their respective groups since my first day and the luncheon disaster. I can't count on anything going smoothly, but I have to try. I'll make their food, walk out calmly and place their orders in front of them, keep my head down and then get the hell away before they can say a thing.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

As I run through the orders they placed, a familiar feeling of despair I associate with cooking descends upon me. Penelope and Co. are alright, just three salads with no mayo, no dressing, just rabbit food and a smattering of salmon. I'm pretty sure I can do that. But the guys? Please, no. Four burgers with deluxe fries. Two steaks. One hot dog.

Seeing as my last three shifts were just serving people rather than taking over the actual cooking, my culinary skills are rusty. I've been living off soup and pizza takeaways and the occasional pasta concoction for the few weeks I've spent here; w _hy_ did I have to inherit my mother's abysmal cooking abilities?

I take a calming breath and decide to think things through methodically. Right: steaks, I can do. Or so I think. I can just about recall how Zach made them. And burgers… well, burgers can't be that hard – the patties are already made, all I need to do is grill them and bung them in between two round pieces of bread, put some ketchup and cheese and lettuce inside, and there we have it. And a hot dog is a hot dog, nothing fancy on one of those.

Okay. I think I'm set.

I start off grilling the meat patties. While they're cooking, I decide I may as well make a start on the hot dog. I peel the sausage out of the packet it's in, and stare at the squidgy pink meat, thinking how I have to cook it. I eventually settle on putting it in the oven – can't go wrong with that. The single sausage on the tray makes for a very sorry sight. After that, I put the steaks in the oven as well, so they can slow cook while I make everything else.

Next, I make the salads. I put some lettuce in three separate bowls, cut up some cucumbers, tomatoes and olives, and then get some salmon which somebody has already pre-prepared out of the massive fridge. I shred the salmon on top and reach for the French dressing, adding it liberally to the first bowl.

And then I freeze.

 _Damn_ it. I hesitantly reach for the order note I discarded earlier, and read the salad orders. No dressing. It says no dressing, Cammie, you stupid idiot. So why did you put it in?

I realise that the fact I am now referring to myself in the third person isn't such a great thing, so I stare accusingly at the dressing which innocently adorns the plain looking salad. I set my jaw and then take a spoon, siphoning off the offending liquid. Once I've managed to eradicate most of it, I toss the salad around a little and add some more lettuce to cover the remainders. It doesn't look noticeable at all so I close my eyes for a second and inhale deeply, trying to calm my kitchen nerves.

A horrible smell assaults my nose. My eyes fly open, and I let out a noise which is an odd mix between wail and groan.

The freaking burgers!

I rush toward the now burning bits of meat on the cooker. I fumble around the knobs, finally finding the right one to switch off the gas. I wipe my forehead on my sleeve, almost in awe of my terrible cooking skills. How the hell did I manage to forget about the burgers? The poor things now resemble charred, black lumps, with the odd brown meaty bit speckled here and there.

"Ugh," I scowl.

I check my watch and see that it's been almost half an hour since the order came in, which only serves to make me more agitated. I grab four burger buns and plonk the burnt meat between each one, adding half a bottle of ketchup, a thick slice of cheese and practically the whole lettuce on each. I get the sausage out and nestle it between its buns, giving it the same sauce treatment. I pull the steaks out the oven and check that they're cooked, before putting them onto plates and throwing on some sauces and salad. It looks quite pitiful.

Then, I arrange the plates on a tray and steel myself for the next five to ten minutes.

Here goes nothing.

I carefully open the doors with my hip and manoeuvre myself out. The tray shifts precariously but everything stays in its place as I make my way towards their table. My arms begin to ache but I hold on. As I approach them, no one looks up. Penelope is cosied up to Zach, giggling and whispering, while he plays with her hair. Her two besties sit opposite, both of them on their huge phones, probably scrolling through their Twitter feed. Jonas and Preston are having an intense discussion about something, Jonas' face noticeabley pink, and I feel I can definitely guess what it might be about. The twin I think has to be James is laughing about something with Nick and Grant, while Callum, the serious twin, looks on over the whole table with a solemn look on his face. I awkwardly clear my throat to make my presence known, making sure my eyes are on the floor or at least, nowhere near Penelope or Zach.

I get the slip of paper and read out the orders in an embarrassingly small voice. "Hot dog?" I ask. Callum nods his head and I somehow get it off the tray and in front of him. He looks up at me, recognition evident on his face, but thankfully, he doesn't anything other than a quickly mumbled 'thanks'.

"Uh, burgers?"

"That's us," James says, gesturing towards himself, Nick, Zach and Grant. I place the plates on front of them, keeping my face lowered. I catch him opening his mouth to say something when he sees my face properly, but before any noise comes out, he gives a flinch of pain and glares accusingly at Zach, who shrugs innocently. I can see the boys looking at the burgers with odd looks on their faces, and as Nick peels back the bun on his, his mouth opens in surprise. He looks up to see me looking at him, and then gives an awkward look and says, way too brightly, "This looks great! I'm starving!"

My face warms up instantly, and I feel the colour rising on my cheeks as I survey the horrid burgers. Penelope lets out a derisive snort, but Zach and the boys don't say a word. What is going _on_? Choosing to ignore the awkwardness around me, I place the steaks in front of Jonas and Preston, and proceed to the most terrifying task of all.

The salads.

I can remember the girls' names now: Cara and Isabelle. They're still looking at their phones so I get away with them easily, but the real problem is Penelope. She is uncharacteristically quiet, but when I raise my eyes, I see a spectacular glare pointed my way. I gently put the salad in front of her. She pushes it away from her, and flicks her still perfect nails against the bowl once.

"What is that supposed to be?" she says, her nose turned up. "I will not eat that."

I grip the tray tightly in my hands, my knuckles white. Nothing can go right for me this fine evening, can it?

"I can take it away and make a new one, if you like," I say out of gritted teeth.

She scowls at me, somehow doing it prettily; she begins to open her mouth, but her voice is not the one that sounds.

"No, the salad's fine, isn't it Penny?" Zach says firmly, grabbing hold of her arm and giving her a hard look. "It is perfectly fine," he assures me, his eyes trained on mine, an earnest look on his face. "We're okay here. Thanks," his voice so smooth it's as if he's daring the others to make any objections. The boys nod in agreement, some of them a little too enthusiastically. They're looking at me expectantly, as if they expect me to say something or give them something else, but I have no idea what they want so I just stand there for a few seconds before replying.

"Okay," I say slowly. My heart seemed to start hammering inside my ribs the moment Zach looked up, my nerves and awkwardness getting the better of me. All this male attention is not doing good things to my stomach. "Um… Enjoy your meal, then." Even as I say it, I wince. That was not the best thing to say to the people who are about to eat your terrible cooking. Although, I can't say I feel bad about Penelope.

Grant gives Zach a confused look, pointing at his plate, who in return gives a shake of his head. Grant shrugs, looking at his shrivelled burger with a forlorn expression. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Jonas poking his steak suspiciously and have the strong urge to laugh.

I turn to go, my cheeks bright. When I'm almost, but not quite, out of earshot, I hear a small, irritated exchange between Penelope and Zach.

"I am _not_ eating this. Why did you say we couldn't say anything about the cooking?"

"Just eat the bloody salad and shut up, alright?" he says impatiently. I don't miss how he evades the question, and for some absurd reason, this makes me smile.

It's not until I'm safely in the kitchen that I realise something: I forgot the fries.

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 **A/N Thank you for reading! I am very sorry for the late update, but I think this chapter is pretty long, so I hope that makes up for it! I really enjoyed writing this chapter! We get to see a bit of what went down between Zach and Adam, as well as why Macey was upset last chapter. What are your opinions of her and Adam's past? And all the backstory stuff? I'd love to know what you think. Please leave a review if you have time, and have a lovely rest of the week!**

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 **BooksLover2000: Same here!**

 **childofhecate: I hope that this time, your curiosity about Macey was satisfied!**

 **gabergirl: Thank you! Honestly, me neither. I have no idea why I decided she should call her a crazy cow, but alas, she did.**

 **Selena: Thank you! Ah, you guessed it! Drama galore amiright? Ha, not really. Hope you liked this!**

 **Guest: Thank you! It makes me laugh will, don't you worry. I love Nick and James!**

 **LifeIsGoode: THANK YOU SO MUCH! I'm just evil, muahaha. Zach is being a little jerky boy, but I think he was sorta okay this chapter. What did you think? Hehe, yes, they were shocked. And dramaaaa, yas, the Bitch Brigade shall cause a helluva lot of THAT. Thank you for your review! hope you liked this chapter.**

 **HippieGuru: Aloha! Wassup? I really want to try this rhyming thing but I seriously cannot rhyme. Haha, Penny is a little evil... Agh, I do not like her at all. Zach needs to man up, you're right! I hope you liked this chappie! Thank you so much! And ooh, Australia! That's so cool. I find that so cool XD I'd love to go there *that emoji with the blue forehead and arms to its face which looks all shocked and excited depending on the situation***

 **lovewords: This review was AMAZING. Thank you so much! I love your reviews, they are literally so lovely, and they make me laugh every time: 'HOLDING THAT PIG'S HAND'. Absolutely pricless and true. Penny and Alana need to jump off a cliff, yes, that's like, perfect. Your review was so long too! I'm so glad you like my story, and gosh, I agree, Zach is being as annoyingly jerky as hell. Macey, muahaha, so much stuff has happened in le past, sometimes I'm just like woah, drama or what? Hehe. Adam and Michaela do rock *sassy pink person with arm out emoji* I find it funny how the purple-haired friend is called Blue. I don't know why, I just find it funny haha. I hope you liked this chapter! And I can't wait to start my new idea either! I also agree Cammie needs to make Zach jealous... Who knows, that may already be happening sometime in the future ;)**

 **medievalmidnight: Thank you! I have no idea how I came up with something so weird and mortifying! Just to clarify, it hasn't happened to me before or anything. Just so you know. It was just a very random thing I wanted to happen!**


	13. Pop Quiz Conversation

**Pop Quiz Conversation**

I consult my timetable for the day, and my heart simultaneously rises and sinks at the sight of triple chemistry. One-hundred and fifty glorious minutes of chemistry in Zach's glorious company.

Yay.

I trudge up the stairs to first period English, wishing I had the same slot with Michaela. As the timetable is split into a weekly cycle of week A and week B, last week's lessons didn't even include English. I mostly just had a lots of maths, psychology and art, which were of course a joy to experience.

I finally arrive outside the door and push it open, accustomed now to the interested looks. Luckily, they've been reducing in number. I quickly scan the room for a familiar face and do a double take when I see Adam sat at a desk near the front. The rather small single desks are arranged in rows, so I make my way through the maze towards him. The vivid-haired girl from the diner is sat on the desk next to his, and as the one on his other side is taken, I drop into the one behind.

"Psst. Adam." He doesn't hear me, probably because of the constant buzz of conversation going on, and I swat the back of his head.

He whips his head around. A smile forms on his face when he sees it's just me, and he brings his hand to his head dramatically. "That was a little violent, Cammie."

"Sorry," I say, a little regretfully. "Where's the teacher?"

"Oh, she'll be here in a second. Miss Evelyn is great – she's the only teacher here who's ever on time. She just went out to get the exercise books."

The purple-haired girl who I can't for the life of me remember the name of, leans towards us.

"Hi, Cammie. Adam's told me a lot about you," she says lightly. Her hair is arranged in an artful mess of spiky, choppy layers twisted up with an assortment of grips, and I admire the effect.

"I hope it's been good things," I say teasingly, while feeling a little nervous he's told his friends about me. He ducks his head and takes up great interest in the square of laminate flooring by his shoe, and I let out a small laugh, before saying quickly, "It wasn't anything embarrassing, right?"

He looks back up at me and rolls his eyes. "'Course not."

I face the girl again. "Hey, what's your name? I definitely remember reading your name tag at the diner, but I have the worst memory for things like that," I say apologetically. "Begins with B, right?"

"It's Blue," she says.

"Like the colour?" I ask blankly, before it dawns on me that 'Blue' probably isn't her actualy name. "Oh, is that a nickname?"

"Does blue mean anything else?" she asks, her tone a shade cooler. "My name's Blue."

"Oh!" I say, feeling heat creep up my face. Good going, Cammie. I can see Adam sniggering to himself, obviously used to the amount of people who say something like I just said and obviously amused by Blue's response, but that only serves to make my face heat up more. Why can I not seem to do anything right in this town?

"Sorry! It's a pretty name," I try to amend.

She shrugs. "Don't work yourself up over it. I'm used to the disbelief that people seem to have when I tell them I'm named after a colour."

"Well, people always think I'm a boy before they see me," I offer. "Once, I had to go to some fancy dinner for my dad's firm, and they called out for Mr. Cameron Morgan to announce the next prize-winner. You can imagine their surprise when he turned up in purple gown and heels," I say.

They both laugh.

"When I dyed my hair for the first time, people were always surprised I went for violet and not some shade of blue," Blue tells me. "I mean seriously, how unoriginal would _that_ be?"

"Quite a bit, I think," I laugh. "Your hair looks great, though," I say, a little enviously. I wish I had the sort of courage to go all out like that with my hair. Unfortunately, I don't even dare go near a lightening shampoo, let alone bleach or hair dye – I'm just too much of a wimp.

"Thanks," she says warmly.

The teacher, a short woman with dangly earrings and waist-length curls held back by a beaded headband, finally arrives, carrying a stack of bright yellow note books. She staggers over to her desk at the front of the room and piles them on the corner of it, before grabbing another pile of books. She walks around the class and hands out the book we'll be studying: Daphne Du Maurier's ' _Rebecca'_. When I see the cover, I smile to myself – this is one of my favourites.

She walks back to the front and smiles at everyone. "Welcome back, class! As I told you at the end of last year, this year we will be studying ' _Rebecca'_. Anyone in here read it?"

Hesitantly, I raise my hand, but surprisingly, I'm not the only one. Adam, looking around at me a little abashed, raises his hand too, along with Blue and a few others. All in all, I'm impressed.

The teacher's gaze hones in on me first, probably because I was the first one to put my hand up.

"Hello, dear. I don't think you've been in my class before? I'm Miss Evelyn."

"Cammie," I reply, giving her a small smile.

She looks happy that I've read it, and asks, "Can you tell me what you thought of the book? Any facts, interesting things you liked?"

I look around the room a little nervously, aware of the heads turned to look at me while I ponder my answer. "Um, well… I think it's really intriguing how we never know what the narrator's name is," I suggest uncertainly.

"Yes!" she replies enthusiastically. "That's an excellent point." She turns to face the rest of the class as she continues. "Throughout the course of the book, we do not once hear the true name of the narrator, the main character, the young woman. She is only ever known as Mrs de Winter. Even the name of the book is after, for want of a better phrase, 'The Other Woman' – not her. Can anyone tell me why this might be?"

This time, it's Adam who answers. "It reinforces the idea that Mrs de Winter is in the shadow of Rebecca, Maxim de Winter's first wife. She feels like Rebecca is _her_ ghost, haunting her over replacing her, constantly there in everything. I guess you could say she's jealous."

Miss Evelyn smiles. "Exactly, yes, yes. I _am_ glad a lot of you have read it already. It truly is a book you must read – all of you who haven't read it, shame on you all! But thankfully, they let me teach it this year. Last year it was ' _Great Expectations'_ , and although I love that novel to bits, nothing beats teaching you lovelies ' _Rebecca'_. How about we start reading. You all know I'm a firm believer in reading as a class: who wants to start?" She looks over us all expectantly, before her eager gaze lands on some.

No prizes for guessing that that someone was me.

xxxxx

The time has come for the subject created by the devil himself.

Chemistry.

As I take out my stuff, I glance over at the door to see Bex and Liz walk in. We didn't get to catch each other at break (it's like two minutes long, I am so making the student body leader complain), and so I wave over at them as they come to my lab bench.

"Hey, Cam," Bex greets. "What did you have this morning?"

"English Lit.," I reply. "How about you guys?"

I direct my question at both of them, but Liz is looking over her shoulder absent-mindedly and Bex answers.

"Maths," she groans. "And Liz had history."

I wave a hand in front of Liz's face. "Hello? Earth to Liz?"

She spins her head around so fast I'm surprised she doesn't crick her neck, and looks at me sheepishly. "Sorry, I was just looking for, uh…"

I smirk knowingly, sharing a glance with Bex. "Jonas?"

She goes red. "Of course not! Possibly. Fine, _yes_ ," she sighs, caving.

"Knew it," Bex says smugly.

They go off to their places, just a few moments before Zach enters with Jonas. Instantly, my senses are on high-alert, and I try to refrain from glancing up at him as he sits down in his seat next to mine. Instead, I take out all my felt-tips – my inner child is still ridiculously proud of their almost perfect condition – and proceed to sorting them into rainbow order. It strikes me that I probably look like a complete neat freak, but I need to take my mind off the eyes I can feel on me, so pen sorting it is.

As expected but foolishly ignored, this proves difficult.

"What, no hello? And there I was thinking we'd moved past the 'I'm going to ignore you' stage."

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him frowning at me, obviously annoyed I didn't dignify him with a response. And then, suddenly, his tanned hand darts out, pinching the turquoise pen I just placed next to the light blue one. He twirls it between his fingers, twisting it out of my reach. I don't even bother to get it back, unable to muster the energy to engage in something as stupid as this, and let out a long breath. I align the pens before getting another one, this time dark blue.

Even this, I can't do without being interrupted.

"You can't put _dark_ blue after light blue! That place belongs to the turquoise!" He says this very indignantly, as if I'm doing him a personal wrong by putting the dark blue next to the light blue.

I gently place my (slightly beloved) pen on the desk and sigh.

"Zach, what are you doing?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing?" he asks confusedly.

"Give me my pen back, please."

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Because you were ignoring me."

"How _old_ are you?" I mutter exasperatedly.

"Eighteen years and two months. Probably a few weeks and days as well, but I haven't worked those out."

"Right," I say slowly. "Pen?"

He hands me the pen.

Dr. Steve walks in just as he open his mouth to say something else.

"Good morning class!" He scrawls something on the board and then strolls around the room, handing out a thick looking booklet.

"I hope you've all revised. It's pop quiz time!"

There is a collective groan around the room, and I am one of the first to start the protestations, but he silences us with a wave of his arm and grins. "It's all part of the learning process, boys and girls."

When he hands me the booklet, I give him the sweetest, fakest smile I can muster. Damn pop quizzes. Teachers only give them when they can't be bothered to plan a lesson.

The words he scrawled on the board were actually the start and finish times for the quiz, and I see that we have forty minutes to answer forty-three questions.

"Okay, chop-chop! The marks you get on these will be recorded, just so you're all aware, so try your hardest. Time starts now."

The rustle of everyone turning the first page can be heard, and then the soft sounds of pen across paper and the odd whisper or quickly stifled sneeze. I read the first question; it's about isotopes and radiation, the topic we covered last lesson, and I struggle to recall the information. He gave us questions that lesson, too! Does he just expect us to do worksheets and tests all the time?

I notice Zach staring at his test paper, motionless, his eyebrows drawn. He's looking at the paper as if it's offended him somehow.

I feel like I should say something, and although we seem to have come to an unspoken agreement not to talk about the diner, I still feel like I need to thank him for it. "Um, you okay?" I whisper.

He sighs, running a hand through his already luxuriously messy hair. "I can't do it," he says, voice completely flat.

I pause awkwardly, glancing towards the front of the room to check Dr. Steve hasn't heard us. The coast is clear, so I reply.

"Do you, uh, want me to help you?" I ask apprehensively. I shouldn't really be feeling this nervous, but he seems suddenly very different from a few minutes ago.

"No," he says curtly. "I don't need your help." The way he says it makes heat creep up my neck, crawling onto my cheeks, and I wince slightly. He put emphasis on the 'you', as if I am not someone he wants to associate himself with. What confuses me is how he was acting a little while ago, light and teasing. Now, he's angry and rude. Bipolar? A possibility.

I'm annoyed with myself for being hurt by his simple refusal. I raise my eyebrows, hopefully succeeding in giving him an unimpressed look. Unfortunately, I don't think I quite pull it off, what with the pink cheeks and all, and this only serves to anger me further.

"Alright," I say coolly.

I go back to my paper, still feeling the heat on my face, fuelled by my irritation. I'm inexplicably angry, even though something as small as this really shouldn't get me so bothered. I scribble down a few answers; the sight of his hand as he writes his name languorously at the top of his page makes me grip my pen tightly in my hand. I take a calming breath.

After about ten minutes, he tries speaking to me again.

"Hey, Curtains."

"Curtains."

"Cammie."

"Cameron."

I squeeze my eyes shut. " _What?_ "

"Sorry," he says sheepishly.

I turn to him incredulously, almost forgetting to whisper. "Excuse me? You're saying sorry after just embarrassing me like that? How can you go from two opposite ends of the personality spectrum in about five seconds? What is _wrong_ with you?" I breathe heavily, feeling the irritation still swirling in my veins.

"Woah, woah, woah. Calm down."

"Calm down? Who do you think you _are_?" Okay, I think I do need to calm down. I'm getting a little worked up here. However, this seems to be another one of those 'mind can't catch up to the mouth spewing stupidity' moments. And things are set to become a little tense if I can't shut up soon.

"Just shut up, will you? I tried helping you but you completely blew me off, and now you probably want to copy my answers again. It's not my fault you're a typical, stupid jock. Let me guess, home issues? Parents? Gotta get into college on a sports scholarship, or no college at all? Yeah, I've heard it all before."

I flinch as I finish my rant. Now that I've said it, I can't take a word of it back, no matter how much I wish I could. I couldn't _stop_. I already knew that he has home issues – there was no need for me to say something like that. Every bitter and angry feeling I've had this past week has come pouring out, and all of it has been directed at Zach: my parents leaving me on my own here, Penelope humiliating me, Zach reaching out to Penelope after, Zach at the diner… By the look on his face, I'm not incorrect in thinking that I went too far. I'd obviously hit a nerve when I mentioned his parents, and college. There's something there, and I just unwittingly prodded it awake.

His face has gone completely blank. His eyes are the only window into what he might be thinking – normally so bright and teasing, they're murky, deep and furious.

"Don't presume to understand a _thing_ about me, Cammie. Don't you dare," he says, voice so low I have to strain to catch it. I am unable to believe I've just been so vicious – that isn't _me_. Why did if fly off the handle like that? "You don't know anything," he growls.

"I-I'm sorry," I say miserably. "I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry, Zach. I didn't… I didn't mean it." At least, I think I didn't. I bite my lip anxiously.

"Save it," he replies tersely. "Just save it, Cammie."

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 **A/N Ooooh, Zammie fight. I don't even know what happened, lol. It's planned, but things got a little more heated than expected! Sorry for the delay in updating, but I have four exams next week and I had a load of revision to get through, on top of absurd amounts of homework. Hope you liked this chapter though! Tell me what you thought. I hope you liked Blue - I love her!**

 **ALSO:**

 **I have a favour to ask of you all. My friend, lovewords, has posted her very own Wattpad story! I know a fair few of you read her stories on here, so you'll support me when I say she's an amazing writer. So go check it out! You won't regret it! It's called 'His Polaroid Girl'.**

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 **childofhecate: Yes! It will hopefully be very dramatic.**

 **GallagherGirls13BYE: Thank you so much, that's so nice of you! Hehe, I'm so glad you like how it's going. It makes me so happy! Love you too! xxx**

 **Selena: Thank you! Haha, Zach has been very horrible, yes. I need to make him sweet soon or else everyone will hate him! And yes, I agree! Jump off that cliff, Alana and Penelope, and Cammie will be waiting for ya. Hope you liked this!**

 **gabergirl: Thank you! I really like writing the background-y stuff, and I think it helps understand the story more? I'm glad it's not boring! And typical Cammie, forgetting the fries.**

 **BooksLover2000: Thank you so much! You're too kind. Ah, it was a little awks. I wonder what you'll think of this chapter.**

 **HippieGuru: Thank youuuuu! Mrs Jones sounds a little odd, haha. What does she teach? And I know! It'd be so good if emojis worked. I like the new ones, but you're right, some of them are so pointless. I'm sorry for making you wait so long for this chapter, but I hope you liked it! And thank you again! P.S. gosh, I could not deal with it being that warm every day. Yoou're hardcore for even being able to survive it. I love warm weather, but when it gets a little too much, I'm pretty much a goner.**

 **Showmethezammie: Thank you! I'm sorry for the negative Zammie in this chapter! And the not so soon update. But I hope you liked it all the same! I cannot wait for Zach hopefully dumping Penelope once and for all.**

 **LifeIsGoode: Thank you! Haha, just go with it. I feel like this story is going to be stupidly unbelievable at times. Luv ya too!**

 **NYC Dream: Thank you so much! That is amazing! Thank you!**

 **BrownEyedSmirker: Haha, that's actually so funny. The steak... Penelope's cousin... that is gold. Love it! Thank you so much! I found Jonas poking the steak pretty funny too. You can't trust Cammie when it comes to cooking. And yes, I agree!**

 **lovewords: Thank you so much! I'm sorry for updating late... again. Yes, I was hoping for a little more depth, glad you like it! MUAHAH, you just gonna have to wait to see what has happened between everyone, it all just is a bit weird and I don't know where it came from, but boy, am I excited to write it. And I'll definitely let you shave Penny's head. And of course, Adam can be alllll yours ;) Hope you liked this chapter! And I NEED MORE LOVE LETTERS. *innocent smile* Blue is perf, I love her.**

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 **Thank you for all your reviews! :)**


	14. Apologies and Car Manners

**Apologies and Car Manners**

The bell for the end of school rings, reverberating around the classroom and mingling with the sudden clamour of people packing away and scrambling to go home. I push away the nerves as I hurry out of math class and try to find him; I hope I don't miss him in this mad rush of students. Hundreds of heads bob above me, and my lower than average height means that I have to stand on my tiptoes constantly to try and see above them. At times like these, I really do wish I had gotten my father's tall genes.

I consider just giving up, as I'm obviously not getting anywhere. But Bex and I made a deal: she would tell me his whereabouts (and she finally did, after a lot of nagging) and I would tell her what's going on and what happened when I flipped out with him during chemistry. So, basically, if I don't find him, she'll have my head.

I also told Michaela and Adam at lunch that, as I have a shift at the diner straight after school anyway, I could just walk there and they could go on without me. They must have sensed something was up because they didn't question it – well, Adam didn't. Michaela gave me a suspicious look and an eyebrow raise which clearly said: 'tell me about it later'. So now I not only have to tell Bex and Macey and Liz, I also have a gossip mode Michaela waiting for me to spill as well. Perfect, right? I'm really regretting my choice of rejecting my usual ride home, however, as I'm tired and there's nothing I want to do less than work. I wish I hadn't said what I had though, and there's no way I'm not going to apologise. He needs to know that that girl back there, it really wasn't me. Or at least, I hope it's not.

I finally spot his dark head, opening his locker at the end of the corridor, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He's still here. I fight my way against the flow of people, and there are a lot of comments about my mental state and intellectual capacity, but I ignore them and almost jog to catch him before he decides to leave.

I approach him on the side where the dented locker door is open, so he can't see me. Steeling myself with a last bout of non-existent courage, I hesitantly knock on it. It makes a weirdly hollow sound.

"Zach?" I say quietly.

He peers around the door and tenses when he sees me. He immediately turns back to removing books from his bag and placing them in his locker, with a marked increase in the force with which he does it. He doesn't say anything or turn back to look at me, as if he hopes I'll leave. But I'm not going to leave until he hears me apologise. What makes me think he'll talk to me though, I have no idea. If I were him and he was me, I'd be ignoring me right now too. I just hope he's not too much like me, and he'll listen.

But it doesn't seem like he's in the mood for talking – at all. I continue to watch apprehensively, wishing he'd at least look at me, as he takes a few books back out and stuffs them in his shoulder bag; he seems almost flustered. At last, he finishes, slamming the locker door shut, his jaw clenched.

"Yeah?" he finally mutters, seemingly deciding that he can't ignore me forever but also doing everything he can to avoid my eyes. He's taken up an interest in the loose thread on the strap of his bag and keeps pulling on it. I want to slap his hand away from it, but I don't think that would go down too well.

I take a deep breath as he looks at me expectantly, already half-turning away. "I just… I came to apologize, Zach," I say, shifting uneasily. "You didn't deserve any of what I said this morning. At all. So… I'm sorry. Really."

He looks up, regarding me coolly. He reaches up to squeeze some of the tension out of his jaw, and I scratch my ear awkwardly.

"Is that all you came here for?" His voice is sharpened with an edge I don't want to look into. But the tone of his voice makes me flinch, and I step back, heart sinking as my eyebrows scrunch together.

In just a second, I've caught a glimpse of the Zachary Goode who offered his hand to Penelope, the Zachary Goode who's earned his reputation as the school's typical bad boy jock – the boy who I'd definitely be intimidated by, if it weren't for the memory of him handing out cookies at the diner and calling me 'Curtains'. His eyes are still inscrutable, his mouth set in a firm line, and the knowledge that I really have made him angry bothers me more than I care to admit.

I sigh. I knew this would be a long shot, but, I suppose, at least I tried. Guess the girls will just have to be disappointed.

"Yeah, that's pretty much it. Sorry for bothering you." My voice is far more level than I thought it would be, and I mentally applaud myself for not showing him that I'm actually feeling more than a little terrible right now. However, his cool demeanour flickers for just a second, and I see a tiny hint of regret in his eyes as he inspects my disappointed frown; maybe my face is giving me away. But I don't say anything more, as he's made it clear he doesn't want to talk to me, so I turn to leave.

Before I can walk away, however, an almost exasperated grunt sounds behind me and a warm hand lands on my shoulder. I jump, caught completely off-guard, as I turn back quickly.

"Curtains. Just forget it." He looks quite pained, as if he's saying this against his better judgment. "It's… fine. Forget it."

"Oh. Okay?" I reply, an unsure smile forming on my face. My voice is slightly too relieved, though, and I wince inwardly. "Are you… sure?" Is that even the right thing to say? Why am I asking him if it's okay? What am I _doing_?

He still looks pained, and he runs a hand over his face. "Ugh, why do you have to be so _nice_? As if you came over to me and apologized," he mutters disbelievingly, almost to himself. "I was fine with being annoyed at you."

"Uh… Sorry?" I say, uncertain what I'm supposed to say to that.

"You can stop with the sorry's now, Curtains," he says, grinning suddenly. Okay, I've made up my mind: this boy definitely has some sort of bipolar-ness in him. The effect is startling: his grin literally transforms him, from broody, angry Zach to the cute, slightly cocky and almost charming boy who helped me that first time in the diner. I angrily wipe my thoughts away, but not before my cheeks flare up at his ever-growing smirk. It's as if he knows the exact effect his smile is having on me.

Stupid, damn cheeks.

"Right," I say awkwardly, after a too-long pause punctuated only by a discomfited cough on my behalf.

"Right," he repeats absent-mindedly, still looking all too pleased with himself. Why, I'm not completely sure.

"I'll, uh, just be going then," I say self-consciously. His gaze cuts towards me, all of a sudden focused and intense, and his eyebrows lower over his striking eyes. He steps ever so slightly forward.

"Hey, how're you getting home?" he asks.

I freeze. "Um… What?" If I wasn't so sure I'd heard incorrectly, I'd say he was… concerned.

He doesn't seem fazed by my befuddlement. "How are you getting home? I saw that short blondie you're friends with go home earlier, and Bex and that lot went off ages ago."

I blink up at him. "That 'short blondie' is called Michaela. And, well… I have a shift at the diner straight after school – it starts at half-four. I was going to walk there." I brush my hair behind my ear and pull my bag up more securely onto my shoulder.

Why do I suddenly feel so awkward? It suddenly hits me how deserted the corridor has become; it feels too quiet and bizarrely secluded, and I don't know how to act around him. How does one act around someone they've indirectly seen half-naked? Whose girlfriend is practically their sworn enemy? How does one do that, I ask you?

"I don't think so," he says, looking at me a little incredulously.

"You don't think what?" I ask, still caught in my own embarrassment.

"You're not walking there! It's… not safe," he declares.

His pronouncement leaves little room for continuing with my awkwardness, and I struggle to fight down the sudden smirk threatening to emerge on my face, one that could rival his. "It's not safe to walk ten minutes to _your_ diner in broad daylight, in weather that is practically summer?"

He rolls his eyes. "Well, yeah. It's starting to get dark out."

"It's not even fall yet, Zach. The sun is still in the sky – I'm sure I'll be okay," I say, reassuringly, still fighting a smile.

"You could still get mugged," he deadpans.

I'm unable to help myself at this, at that poker straight face he has on; a laugh bubbles up and bursts out of me. "Oh, yes, how could I not think of _that_?"

He gives me a smug smile. "Precisely. That's why I'll be taking you."

My laughter dies abruptly. Although I knew that was probably the point of his question, I didn't actually think he was serious. Especially as not five minutes ago, he wasn't exactly happy with me.

"Uh, thanks, but that's okay," I mumble. A blush blazes across my cheeks. He's offering to drive me?

"I could easily get to the diner before you and tell Arnold you're not coming today, you know, and I could also tell the security guy that you're not allowed within the premises anymore," he says nonchalantly, smug smile still in place.

"There's a _security_ guy?"

"What do you take me for?" he says in a mock offended tone. "I hold the safety of my customers in great stead."

"Riiiight."

Every time I'm getting awkward, he'll go and say something dorky and I can't help but respond. Despite how our conversation initially started off, I'm finding that I am actually enjoying talking to him.

He gives a grand, sweeping gesture. "Your carriage awaits, Curtains. Take it or leave it."

I give him an eye roll even Michaela would be proud of. "Alright, alright – I'm coming."

xxxxx

"What are you doing, Cammie?" Zach glances over at me as we turn out of the car park. He's wearing a suspicious look.

"Look at the road," I scowl. "And what, I'm just playing some music." What does he think I'm doing? I was interested to see what music he listened to, and I was surprised to find most of the bands that I liked myself jumbled into the pile of CDs stuffed into the glove compartment. I was just about to play some All Time Low.

"Calm your panties. And you can't touch Beatrice's _stereo_ ," he says, almost dismayed. "Has no one ever taught you about car manners?"

" _Car manners?_ "

"It's that thing when you don't touch someone else's stereo," he says, all seriousness.

"Ha, that was so funny. Help, I think my sides are gonna split." Sassy Cammie has made an appearance, ladies and gents.

"Since when are you so sarcastically hilarious?" I notice his eyes are back on the road, and I can see a smirk on his face.

"Since always, dearest Z-Boy."

"Please don't say you really just called me Z-Boy? I think my ears are scarred." He gives me an amusedly disgusted look and I giggle awkwardly.

I just… _giggled_. I stop abruptly.

"It sounded better in my head," I mutter defensively, my newfound and short-lived bravado shrivelling up and dying.

"Yeah, no doubt. Hey," he says, eyes narrowing as he sees the CD I'm still holding out of the corner of his eyes. "You still haven't put the CD back." He turns around to give me a glare and he takes a hand off the wheel, snatching it out of my hands.

" _Eyes on the road and_ _hands on the wheel!"_ I shriek manically.

He jumps violently at my screech, cursing like a sailor, just managing to stop the car from swerving into the wrong lane.

"Jesus, Cammie! There was no need for you to blast my ear off!" He looks a bit peeved, and I stare at my hands sheepishly. "Jesus," he repeats. "There isn't even anyone on the road. You gotta calm down, lady."

"I'm calm! You just need to get some more driving lessons," I grumble. "How did you even pass? Isn't 'look at the road' the first thing in the test?"

He completely ignores me and instead starts talking to his car like a demented old man. "Poor Beatrice," he coos, gently patting the wheel. "Scary Cammie almost killed us." He shoots me a smug smirk, as if he somehow thinks I'll be annoyed that he just called me 'Scary Cammie' in a baby voice. I'm not. Obviously.

"Oh, shut up," I scowl. I stare out the window, watching the trees blur past; the sun is shining directly onto my face, meaning my cheeks are getting uncomfortably hot. I pull down the sun-shield, half-expecting him to have another tantrum at the sight of me touching something else in the dratted car.

"Brighten up, Curtains," he grins. "It's almost cooking time. What are you going to be making today? Who knows? Maybe I'll even help you again," he winks.

"Excuse me while I sing for joy. That would just be the absolute _highlight_ of my day."

"That's fine by me, I wouldn't blame you. Just make sure you don't shatter any windows. Then Beatrice and I _really_ wouldn't be happy with you."

I roll my eyes. "Just drive, Goode."

* * *

 **A/N Hello, it's me. I've been wondering if after all these weeks you'd still like to read this fanfiction because I'm such a crappy updater and gah I don't blame you for being peed off but the truth is just stop reading now if you want weekly updates okay okay? I have no schedule and I try to update whenever I can, sometimes I really can't be bothered, and if I can't be bothered, the chapters go really shitty. So yeah. I am very sorry. I wish I could be like those really great authors who can update every week and get good grades and revise and have a social life and are still able to watch loads of TV shows and read two books a week and bake and go scuba diving. That would be goals. Alas, that ain't me.**

 **Right, now I've got that out the way: I hope you liked it! I enjoyed writing this, and I actually wrote half last Sunday and never got round to you finishing it, so here you go! It's a little on the short side but I'm hoping you won't mind too much. Please tell me what you thought!**

* * *

 **BooksLover2000: Thank you! You're almost always the first reviewer, it's awesome haha. I really like Blue. Hope this was okay!  
**

 **Archiepoke123: Thank you so much! I'm so happy you like it. I'm afraid you'll have to get behind me in the queue for bitch slapping Penelope - doesn't she deserve it!**

 **childofhectate: Thank you, and I hope your exams also went(/go?) really well! Also hope you liked this chapter, but I feel like Zach is a little all over the place - I'm worried I won't be able to sort him out haha.**

 **GallagherGirls13Bye: Yes, of course I am! Isn't it great?! And thank you so much! I'm not offended, no worries. Hopefully this chapter was okay for you! I completely agree with you, Cammie was being so unreasonable. I *may* have overdone it a little but I tried to salvage the situation! Thank you for being so lovely! xx**

 **HippieGuru: Thank you! I love Blue too - she's amazing! Gawd, your reviews are always so great, thank you dude. Haha, I'm happy you liked this side of Cammie, lots of people don't! I AGREE ZAMMIE 4 EVA. I love your reviews, they always make me smile. I am hell sorry for being such a bad updater though - I swear I don't do it on purpose! Oh, I'm going to reply to your rhyme: in a while, crocodile! The most simplest, most obvious rhyme to exist but whatevs ;)**

 **Selena: Thank you! I hope Zach was kinda sweet here? I'm still waiting at the bottom of that cliff. Waiting to slap that gurl.**

 **Evelyn: Hi, cool! I'll try to have her in it as much as I can :) And thank you!**

 **Lolamicfuzzy: Thank you! Hope you liked it!**

 **Lalalucy: Thank you so so much! I will always update, even though I'm a terrible updater. Hope you liked this one!**

 **Jen: Thank you! Good GOODE, Zammie is always the number one OTP. Always and foreverrrrr. Although I do like myself some Adam, haha. And that's so cool, I love Love Letters and I am so gonna tell lovewords that we're both someone's favourites because that is beyond amazing! Thank you! And ever so sorry for the late update. I feel so bad!**

 **Zkhatun244: Thank youuuu!**


	15. Playing Truant

**Playing Truant**

The next few weeks fly by, and the crisp breath of fall is in the air as the first week of October comes to a close. The leaves are already turning copper and golden, and the remnants of the long summer are at last saying goodbye; jumpers and boots and scarves are being pushed to the front of closets and the fresh scent of looming rainfall is in the air.

Although I like summer, I won't miss being sticky and sweaty ninety-five percent of the time. So hello, October.

Zach and I haven't had much contact since the events of my outburst and the impromptu ride home. Of course, we're still partners in chemistry, and although we got over it all and he's by no means angry with me, he never asks for help and me… Well, I don't offer it. He still calls me Curtains and gives me those insufferable smirks, and I still ignore him as best as I can while secretly admiring those _arms_.

Anyway.

I've finally settled into some semblance of routine. Get up, go to school with Adam and Michaela, work at the diner, do my homework. I've been itching to get out and capture some of the beautiful Rosewood autumn days with my easel and paintbrush, but it's so difficult to find the time. You might think that my complete lack of social life and total deprivation of male attention bothers me – and, well, you'd be absolutely, utterly, one hundred percent correct.

The only anomaly to the complete boredom of my day-to-day life is today – the wonderful first Saturday of October, complete with a being-dragged-around-every-shop trip to the mall with the girls.

"Hey, guess what?" Macey says as she hauls me to yet another shoe boutique. Bex and Liz are a little way behind us, still slurping their choca-mocha-vodka-shot-supercalafragilistic-god-knows-what lattes. I'm not stereotyping, either – they genuinely ordered something along those lines: something with a long ass name and too much sugar. I just finished my plain old cinnamon latte, and am in the process of mourning the loss of that sweet addiction already. Macey, on the other hand, decided to forgo the whole caffeine drink thing altogether, and chose an iced green tea for herself. Green _._ Tea. Who buys green tea at Starbucks, I ask you?

"Zach asked me for your number."

I jerk to a sudden stop, almost dropping the shopping bag I'm holding, and crushing the poor Rudolf patterned cardboard cup in the other. " _What?_ "

"I thought that would get your attention," she smirks. "He asked me for your number."

" _When_?"

"Oh, Monday, I think it was?"

"And you didn't tell me?!"

"Must've slipped my mind," she smirks.

I stare at her expectantly. "Well?"

"Well, what?" she says innocently.

"Did you give it to him?" I say, expression wild.

She grins wickedly. "Yup."

"Y-yup?" I repeat weakly.

"Yup."

"You… you gave _Zachary Goode_ my number?" I ask, almost scared to hear the confirmation.

"Yes!" she exclaims, absurdly happy. I'm confused for about a millisecond before it dawns on me.

"God! Macey, _please_ don't tell me you're trying to play matchmaker," I sigh exasperatedly.

"Who said that?" she smiles evilly at me.

I narrow my eyes at her. "We don't like each other! Heck, we don't even know each other!"

"That doesn't tally with what _I've_ heard." She raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow; her cerulean eyes are practically x-raying me.

"One ride home does not equate to feelings, Mace," I mumble, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

"Did you just… He gave you a ride _home_?" she shrieks, coming to a standstill. "I didn't know that! Bex didn't tell me _that_!"

I open my mouth to tell her that the reason for that is probably because I didn't actually tell her in the first place, but before I can say anything, Bex and Liz catch up to us.

"Did I hear my name?" Bex says, looking a little baffled.

Macey turns on her accusingly. "Yes, you did. Bex, Zach drove Cammie home! Did you know that?"

I groan as Bex turns to face me, hand on her hip. "Cameron Morgan, is that true?"

I sigh deeply. " _Yes_."

Liz looks at me sympathetically as she holds in a snort.

"Go ahead," I grumble, indicating to her that she might as well let it out. I dug my own grave with that one: not telling Bex everything that happened when our little deal clearly specified that's exactly what I should have done, not to mention it's probably under some section of the girl code named something along the lines of 'Things to Tell Your Friends About Boys and Your Relationship With Them'.

She laughs at the expression on my face, and pats my arm. Bex and Macey just give me an unimpressed look tinged with curiosity, regarding me. After a few seconds, Macey points at a café near us. "We are going to go over there and get a table, and you, my dear, are going to _spill_ , okay? The barista who works there is cute, too, so while we get those details, we'll also get some eye candy. It's a win-win situation."

I roll my eyes. "Alright, alright. It's not even that exciting."

"Huh," Bex mutters. "Anything where that boy is involved is classed as exciting. You should know _that_ by now."

"Can't argue with that one," Liz shrugs.

xxxxx

"Cammie, are you listening?"

I feel something foreign jab at my arm, and my elbow drops off the desk in a fashion which causes my stomach to swoop, and I awake with a jerk, blinking blearily at my maths teacher. He's looking at me disapprovingly, and I can hear the titters all around me as they laugh at the fact that I actually fell asleep in Mr Rogers' lesson. I discretely try to wipe away the drool on my chin, but the girl next to me – who is none other than Penny's right hand lady, Cara Ronin – makes a disgusted face and whispers in a carrying voice, "The new girl just _dribbled_."

Oh, wow, applause and standing ovations for this absolutely _terrific_ insult. I ignore her, only stopping to give her a withering look, and then straighten in my seat and look apologetically at Mr Rogers.

"Sorry, sir. I, uh, must've dozed off," I say uncomfortably. Thankfully, he seems to be the sort of teacher with no tolerance for anyone like Cara, so he makes no indication of having heard her – but, I'm not sure if his unimpressed look directed at me is a great thing, either.

"Yes," he says peevishly. "It seems you did. Now, if you have quite finished with your nap, I'd like to get back to the lesson. I will repeat my question one more time. Can you tell me how I would differentiate the root of 4 _x_ to the power of 3?" He taps on his desk with the tips of his fingers, showcasing his impatience.

My mind goes blank, my mouth going dry. I can still feel the weight of a dozen stares burying into the back of my head, and shift in my seat. "Um, well… You see… First I wou-"

There is a sudden, loud knock on the door of the classroom; I breathe a sigh of relief at this momentary respite from mathematically related humiliation.

The sigh of relief catches painfully in my throat when I see his silhouette in the doorway. What's _Zach_ doing here?

He enters the room in all his glory, gorgeous black hair mussed and eyes vibrantly playful. He walks to the desk, where Mr Rogers is stood, looking hugely irritated at this new interruption to his lesson.

"What would you like, Mr Goode? As I recall, you are not in this class anymore." His voice is controlled, but I can see the vein ticking steadily in his temple: if Zach doesn't hurry up with whatever he needs, Mr Rogers might just explode.

I'm not surprised that Mr Rogers knows Zach's name – nor, about the hint that Zach got kicked out of this class. It seems that chemistry isn't the only subject he shows disregard for.

"Apologies, sir," Zach says, voice as smooth and rich as chocolate soufflé. It's the voice he uses to charm, and while it doesn't entirely seem to be working on Mr Rogers, it sure is working on every single girl in this room. If you looked closely enough, you could probably see them all swooning.

"Sorry to interrupt your lesson, but there's somebody here to see Cameron Morgan; I've been sent to collect her. I believe she's in this class?"

My heart swoops unpleasantly – who's here to see me? Has something happened to my parents? Worry starts to gnaw at me, but I take a deep breath, willing myself to be rational. No, that can't be it. And why would the reception send Zach, of all people, anyway? Shouldn't he be in class?

It appears Mr Rogers is having the same train of thought.

"Mr Goode, shouldn't you be partaking in your own lesson?"

"Ah, nope. I have a free," he says easily. He looks around the room expectantly as he speaks; as his gaze lands on me, so does everyone else's. His face alights in a roguish grin – he looks way too pleased with himself.

What's he _up_ to?

"Hm, yes. Well, off you go, Miss Morgan." I'm too busying trying to glare at Zach, though, and it only registers that Mr Rogers spoke to me a few seconds later. I hear another laugh to my left, and Zach continues to give me that stupid look of his. I shoot up off my chair, smiling thinly at an almost murderous looking Mr Rogers.

How am I going to get out of this situation? I'm not going to get Zach into trouble by saying he's lying – no way. We've only just patched things up. There only seems to be one option, and I heave a defeated sigh: I'm just going to have to play along.

I gather up my things, stuffing them into my bag and hurrying out of place. I make the mistake of looking up at a waiting Zach, who winks at me. My cheeks flush pink, and I all but stumble over my words. "Sorry for the interruptions, sir. I'll catch up with everything by next lesson," I say awkwardly, fully aware of the steam coming out of his ears.

He responds with a tiny nod and turns back to the class. "Is there anyone _else_ who needs to leave, before I start again?"

My face burns even hotter, and I barrel my way past the tables and chairs. I finally reach Zach, who's still leaning against the doorframe and looks like he's trying not to burst out laughing. He doesn't look the slightest bit remorseful, and his eyes are glittering.

If I could slap him right now, I so would.

Once we're clear of the classroom – I don't know how I'm going to face Mr Rogers again after that – I come to a halt in the deserted corridor and fling my arm out in front of Zach. He stops, looking surprised, and I grit my teeth irritably. I shove him over a few steps so we're not near any other classes, and then I turn to face him, hoisting my bag up more securely onto my shoulder while placing the other hand on my hip.

"What was that all about?" I growl.

"What was what all about?" he says coyly.

"Don't play games with me, Goode. And stop looking at me like that," I snap, gesturing at his smirking, mischievous expression.

"Loosen up, Curtains dear. It's all fine." He winks at me.

"And stop winking at me! It looks like you have a twitch! Are you going to tell me why you practically kidnapped me, or not?" I tap my foot impatiently against the linoleum flooring, careful to avoid the big splodge of gum near my heel.

"You have to be in my car for it to be a proper kidnapping. You're still here of your own free will."

"I am not, believe me. Please tell me why you dragged me out of my lesson, Zach." I try to go for the 'feel sorry for me' approach, but I doubt that it's working.

He rolls his eyes. "You are so _boring_ , Cammie. Tell me, have you ever bunked off?"

I stare at him, ignoring his insult. I doubt he meant it to sting so much, so I let it go. "We're _bunking off_?"

"What did you think we were doing? Obviously, there's no one at the office for you. That was just an excuse."

"Yeah, I gathered," I say acerbically.

"Sheesh, okay, don't get your panties in a twist."

I let out a huff of air. "Won't there be cameras, looking at us right at this very moment? They'll know we're not here!" I don't want to admit it, but I am definitely starting to panic a little. It may be second nature for him to bunk off whenever he wants, but I've never done it before, and although it sounds almost enticing, I can't decide if I should go through with it.

It's a big decision for a girl who doesn't even hand her homework in late.

"Cammie," he says solemnly. He bends down slightly and places both hands on my shoulders. I try not to shiver at this unexpected contact. The place where his hands meet the cotton of my t-shirt… I can feel the outline of his fingers burning the fabric. The warmth rushes instantly back to my face; I am frozen, an ice sculpture with rose petals dusting her cheeks.

God, no wonder I don't get any male attention. I can't even handle a simple hand-on-shoulders moment from a guy who's not even _interested_ in me. Get a grip, woman.

I raise my eyes to meet his, trying to regain control of the temperature on my face; his eyes are deep pools of spring green, light and calm. They are looking at me intently, willing me to stop being so worried about everything and have a little fun. He has a little crease in between his eyebrows, a tiny groove of either concern or irritation; I can't tell. There are even a few freckles splayed across his nose… Oh, and there goes my composure. I can almost see it stripping and jumping into those pools.

Bad thought, _bad_ thought. My cheeks burn even more fiercely, and I almost groan. Why was I looking at his face so much? Do you think he noticed? Wow, good going – I've had the opposite effect of what I was aiming to do. If he wasn't holding me in place right now, I'd either be running away from him or be reduced to a floundering, awkward mess. Not that I'm not one already.

To make things worse, another nugget of information forces its way into my brain: Macey gave Zach my number! He has my number. How do I ask him about it? What do I say?

I exhale slowly. I think that's another problem for another day.

I think we've all learned a valuable lesson here: do _not_ think of stripping while in close proximity with Zachary Goode.

"Er, hello, Cammie?" a bemused voice says, penetrating my muddled thoughts.

"Y-yeah?" I squeak.

"Are you still awake?"

"Wide awake, wide awake," I laugh, a bumbling mess.

"Right, well. I was saying..." he scratches the back of his neck. "You know, it was fine the first time I said it, but you've just made things awkward now."

"Don't I know it," I say glumly.

"Yeah, well, basically, all I was saying was that you should calm down, and it'll be fine," he says, rather bluntly. "I've played truant more than once –"

"Why don't I find that hard to believe?" I interrupt with a roll of my eyes, ignoring his pointed glare.

"– and I haven't ever been caught." A hint of pride enters his voice, and I look at him dubiously, hoping he realises that skiving off school isn't exactly something to be proud of. But then, a more pressing matter makes itself known: I realise that he's still holding my shoulders.

"Um… Zach?" I say, looking awkwardly at his hands on my shoulders and back up at him, trying to avoid his eyes. I stay as still as I can.

He jumps, withdrawing his hands hastily, as if burnt. "Oh! Um, sorry. Sorry about that." If my still shocked mind isn't playing tricks on me, I'd say that those two spots of colour high on his cheeks mean that he's _blushing_. Zachary Goode… is blushing. Because of _me_. I think I deserve an award for that. (Let's just ignore the fact that my cheeks are probably about ten different shades of burgundy right now.)

"You're not all funny about personal space and stuff, right?" he asks, rubbing the side of his neck with a sheepish expression.

I suppress a smile at his flustered self. "Nah, you're alright." I grin at him, hoping against hope that my cheeks have cooled down enough for me to not look like a clown while I do so.

"So… are you coming?" he asks earnestly.

I breathe out, one long, controlled release. The hopeful expression on his face tugs at my heartstrings, making him look suddenly so much younger and infinitely cuter – if he asked someone for something with that face, they'd do it for him in an instant. I just hope this is the only time it will work on me.

"I'm coming," I say, resigned. "Just don't get me into any trouble."

"Now, Curtains, why would I do that?" He winks at me, yet _again_ , before bouncing off ahead of me.

"Don't push your luck," I warn him before he gets out of earshot. All I get is a deep, amused laugh in reply.

I shake my head to myself, hurrying forward to catch up, looking around furtively to make sure no one's there.

What am I doing?

xxxxx

"Are you freaking _kidding_ me?" I mutter, aghast. I stare incredulously at the dark haired boy facing me, hoping against hope that this isn't the final destination. What I had in mind… well, it definitely wasn't here. Instead of getting any answers, all I get is the continued grin and amusement of one Zachary Goode, stood in front of his car in the crisp afternoon air.

"Nope, I'm not kidding you," he finally replies, smirking infuriatingly, his bright green eyes twinkling. He dances swiftly out of reach as my arm lashes out at his shoulder, and I end up punching the car behind him, resulting in sore knuckles and a glare in my direction.

" _Be careful with Beatrice_ , Cammie." He instantly scowls, and I roll my eyes.

I pat 'Beatrice' on the hood in mock apology while he inspects every single inch around where my fist hit for damage. Once he's realised my punch really wasn't hard enough to even slightly dent the glinting metal, he turns back to me and snorts at my failed and frankly pathetic attempt to hurt him. I grind my teeth in frustration.

"I thought bunking off was meant to be fun? Don't tell me you dragged me out of class just to come to the _diner_."

He raises his eyebrows in mock offence. "I didn't _drag_ you anywhere, Curtains. You came pretty willingly. Plus, we're not going anywhere else just yet. You still have to complete your first lesson." I bristle at the mention of 'Curtains', even though I'm used to it by now, but he carries on speaking and I don't get the chance to interrupt or question him. What exactly does he mean, lesson?

"What do you mean? What lesson?" I say sharply, refusing to accept he'd go to such lengths to prove me wrong and believing it all the same. This cannot be about that _stupid_ chemistry lesson.

"Don't you remember our little argument, Cammie?"

My heart sinks as I frown. Of _course_ it is about that.

"I thought we had an unspoken agreement not to talk about it again?" I mutter.

"Well, I would just like to prove you wrong. You see, Cammie… I have a proposition." He tries not let the excitement show but it's shining out of his very being.

"What 'proposition'?" I say, finger quoting the word.

"Lessons, Curtains!" he smirks.

"… Lessons?" I ask, confused.

"I am going to give you cooking lessons, and you," he pauses, smirk getting, if possible, even wider. "You, are going to give me… Chemistry lessons!"

I look at him, quite shocked. "Pardon?"

"We're going to teach each other how to do the things we absolutely suck at," he says happily.

"Right… you know, you can't just do whatever you like with me," I say, trying to be annoyed but failing, for some reason.

"Whatever I like?" he echoes, grin emerging. My cheeks burn as I get what he's hinting at, and he steps forward, already beginning to invade my personal space again. I step back, annoyance returning full force.

"You know what I mean," I mutter, mustering some scorn in my tone but not fooling him as my voice trails off. I don't meet his eyes and take up a sudden interest in the fingernail of my left index finger.

I see him looking at me oddly for a few seconds out of the corner of my eye, before he breaks the rather awkward silence beginning to envelope us.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry for dragging you out of class and marring your perfect one month student record," he says reluctantly, rolling his eyes at my raised eyebrows. "Come on, Curtains, quit moaning. Your face gets all bunched up when you frown, and we need to start…" He pauses dramatically. "Our _lesson_."

I fight the blush threatening to rise at his comment and instead snort derisively. "You know I can't cook. I'll probably end up cutting off your finger or something."

"Don't worry, Curtains. I won't let you hurt anyone else, or for that matter, yourself." He takes something out of the trunk with a flourish and throws it at me, and I belatedly realise it's an apron as I fumble with the catch.

I stare at the writing on the front of it, surprised: 'May the Forks Be with you.'

"You like Star Wars?"

He turns back to me, lifting his hands up. " _Love_ Star Wars I do."

A laugh bursts out of me. " _Yoda_ voice? Seriously?"

He shrugs, smiling. "Seriously."

* * *

 **MAY THE FORKS BE WITH YOU! Hello, guys! I hope you liked this! Tell me if any of you like Star Wars, because I recently watched the new film and I LOVED IT. I hadn't seen any before, so now I want to watch the first six. Tell me what you thought of this chapter! I thought it was pretty cute. hehe. Love me a little Zammie, and we are finally getting into the main idea of the story. It seriously took me a while to get there, so thanks for bearing with me!**

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 **childofhectate: Thank you! I hope your exams have gone well! Yes, you're right lol. I am trying to sort him out, don't worry!**

 **GallagherGirls13BYE: Thank you so, so much! You're too kind! xx**

 **HippieGuru: Well hello amazing reader! Thank you so much! I will happily take that virtual cookie, and here's a virtual cupcake for you because you're so great! Just, thank you! I always smile when I read your reviews. And I love replying to reviews, so it's fine! :)**

 **Selena: AW thanks! Yes, I totally agree with you! Haha, thank you so much. And omg, Divergent! I'm going to admit that, no, it didn't, but it must've come from somewhere in the Divergent section of my brain because I don't normally use the name Beatrice. Does that even make sense? Lol, I'll shut up. Thank you for your review!**

 **gabergirl: Thank youuu!**

 **lovewords: Thank you so much! I love your reviews! Cammie totally deserved it, haha. And we'll get to the juicy stuff soon, all in good time, all in good time. Michaela is kinda a big player in that ;) I can't wait to start writing all of that! And I know, this is the most chapters I've ever done lol. So, quite an achievement. Anyway thank you! Love yaa!**

 **noorshrufi: I hope you liked this! Penelope is kind of Zach's girlfriend: they are that weird couple who are always on and off.**

 **Guest: Ah, you're right! I'll definitely take that on board. It's so hard keeping the characters how everyone likes them! But in this story, Cammie is meant to be sort of shy-ish and awkward and clumsy. Hope you liked this chapter though!**

 **fangirly662: Thank you! I hope that's a good thing? I also hope you enjoyed this chapter! Gosh, yes, I know that feeling! *sending you some update motivation***

 **YasssGurl: Thanks for your reviews, I got them all at once! I'm glad you're liking this!**

* * *

 **Thank you so much everyone! And now I have... A PROPOSITION:**

 **I want to post a one-shot kind of thing on New Year's Eve. It's going to be called Dancing After Dusk and duh, it's a fluffy Zammie story. But they're older and a bit different than what you're used to. I haven't written it yet, but I really want to, and I wanted to let you all know! I'd love for you to read it. I ain't saying what it's about just yet, but any interest, even just from the title? Or nah? Please tell me!**

 **Thanks! xx See ya next timeee.**


	16. Curtains the Object or Curtains the

**Curtains the Object or Curtains the Nickname?**

"Pancakes," I say, staring at him disbelievingly, then to the ingredients laid out on the table, then back to him. I wait – in vain – for an explanation.

"Pancakes," he repeats, nodding seriously.

Folding my arms across my chest, I try to hold back the violent part of me that wants to whack his arm. Let's face it: the only person who'd get injured if I did that would be me, and me only.

"So, let me clarify: you made me miss school to make _pancakes_?" I only just manage to desist from throwing the bag of flour at him.

"Pancakes, Cammie, are an important stage of the cooking cycle: don't be fooled by their delicious looking exterior. They're nasty little buggers to cook."

I snort through my nose. "Alright, alright," I sigh. "Throw it at me."

"Excuse me?" he asks, one side of his mouth hitched up in a smirk. "Throw what at you?"

"Oh, shut up," I grumble, lightly shoving his shoulder. "Just… you know. Teach me how to make a stupid pancake."

"If you say so," he says, grinning suggestively. He leans over me to get to the apron he placed on the worktop when we came in, and his muscled arm brushes against my chest. My cheeks flare up and I take a faltering step backwards, glaring at his smirking face.

" _What_ do you think you're doing?"

He smiles winningly. "Nothing."

I give him a suspicious look, throwing daggers with my eyes. "Keep your hands to yourself, mister. I'm not one of your _girls_ , okay? No touchy business. I've had enough experiences with sleaze-balls like that."

He looks taken aback, surprised, even. If he thought getting up close and personal would be that easy, he has another think coming.

He stares at my stony face for a good thirty seconds, before he ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "You're right. I'm sorry. But," he says suddenly looking up. "What do you mean, you're not one of 'my girls'?" He looks confused.

I look at him, suddenly uncertain with my veiled but rather harsh accusation. "You know, like… your fondue girls."

I shuffle on my feet, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. From all that I've heard, I have no trouble believing that Zach can't really keep it in his pants. And if the dozens of whiny girls and desperate looks are anything to go by, I'd say it happens quite often. Not that I _care_ ; but it definitely strikes a nerve. He thinks he can go through girls like somebody else would go through a chocolate box, and then dump them like yesterday's trash? I don't think so. Especially not when he has a girlfriend – a bitchy one at that, but a girlfriend nonetheless.

He stares at me again, as if he can't actually believe his ears. "My _fondue_ _girls_?" he says incredulously. "Did you just Captain America reference me?"

"So what if I did?" I say defensively. "I'm not as crude as you are."

"Me? Crude?" he says in mock offense. "And I thought we were friends," he says, a small ripple of hurt in his eyes. "Doesn't that count as being one of my girls?"

My stomach swoops. "Yes, we are," I say, and I'm embarrassed to note the sudden breathiness of my voice. "But I didn't mean that, I meant –" I'm about to launch into an explanation, but notice his too-innocent, nonchalant expression with that tiny smirk curling his lips, and narrow my eyes. "You know exactly what I meant, so shut up and show me how to cook these damn pancakes, Zach."

He rolls his eyes. "Calm down, lady. Just gimme the flour."

xxxxx

 _Splat_.

I let out an exasperated groan and look down at the sorry mess of pancake mixture on the floor, courtesy of me and my dismal flipping skills. Zach looks at it too, face strained with the effort not to laugh, and I stick out my bottom lip.

"It's not funny. Why is it so _difficult_? This is the seventh one!"

He shakes his head to himself and pushes himself off his perch on the worktop. He comes towards me, gesturing to the pan in my hands. I hand it to him sulkily and he pours another batch of mixture in, before placing it on the stove. He wait a few seconds; the mixture starts looking more like a pancake, edges curling and becoming golden. Picking the pan up again, he carefully hands it back to me.

"Right," he says, standing close behind my back. "Your problem is that you keep sticking your arm out like you're scared of the pan, and you jerk it up so the poor pancake shoots straight up."

"Well, how are you _supposed_ to do it?" I ask waspishly.

I can see him physically withholding from rolling his eyes, and I raise an eyebrow at him. He looks up and then back at me, asking, a little apprehensively, "Is it okay if I guide your hand? You won't castrate me, will you?"

I blow a piece of hair out of my eyes and let out a small huff, pretending to deliberate. " _Fine_ ," I concede, after waiting a few seconds purely to see him squirm. "I probably won't, but I'm not making any promises," I warn him lightly.

"I'll bear that in mind then," he grunts. Placing his warm, dry hand on my wrist, he manoeuvres me gently so I'm holding the pan with my arm slightly bent at the elbow and with a loose, but firm grip on the rubber handle of the pan. I feel like his fingers are leaving imprints on my skin, but that's probably my rather inexperienced-self imagining things.

"It's all in the wrist, Curtains," he instructs. "Shuffle the pancake around a bit and then just give it a good flick." He lets me go and I find myself wishing he'd lingered a little longer as he walks to my side and leans against the worktop, nodding his head for me to continue.

I clear my throat. "Okay… I guess it can't go that wrong, right?"

"Go on. Show me your pancake flippin' skills."

He doesn't seem too worried, so I tell myself I shouldn't be, either. I push away all thoughts of the last time I tried making pancakes. Let's just say that I wasn't allowed near a pan for a long time afterwards – and the stove was never really the same again.

I make sure I keep my arm loose and move the pan side to side before giving my wrist a good flick. It flies up, smoothly turning and landing back in the pan, slightly burnt, but a pancake all the same.

"It actually worked!"

"Did you really doubt me that much?" he asks, smiling slightly.

"Ah, no, not really, but you can't ever be sure," I tease. I turn to put the pan back on the stove – and promptly yank my hand back.

" _Ow!_ " I yell. I cradle my hand to my chest, nursing my fingers.

I see Zach out of the corner of my eye, instantly coming to my side to see what happened.

"Hey, what? What's wrong?" he asks worriedly, glancing at my hand and then to my face, a frantic look in his eyes. His hands hover awkwardly around me, not quite touching my arms.

"I burnt myself," I groan. "And it hurt, dammit."

"How did you manage to _burn_ yourself?" he asks in disbelief, as he slowly reaches out, and when he feels confident that I won't bite his arm off, he takes my hand and inspects my burnt fingers. His hands are soft and gentle, and I shift uncomfortably because I can't believe I was so clumsy. He probably thinks I did it on purpose.

"I think I touched the stove when I put the pan back?" I reply, embarrassed, wincing as he probes the tender, reddening skin.

"Go run it under the tap," he advises briskly. "It'll help," he adds, when I don't move.

I give a small nod and, deciding not to question him, turn the cold tap on. Quickly sticking my fingers under the cool, soothing stream, I let out a soft sigh of relief. I look over my shoulder at him and see that he's rummaging in the fridge, and he takes something out of it a few seconds later, flipping it over to check the back and nodding to himself. He strides back to my side and I get a look at what he took out: a block of butter.

"What's that for?" I ask, baffled.

"What, the butter?" he asks.

"No, the ice cream." I roll my eyes at his confused glance. " _Yes_ , the butter. What else?"

"Har-di-har. And I'm putting it on your burn, obviously," he says slowly, as if I'm dense.

"Oh," I say blankly. "Why?"

"Maybe because it _helps_ , genius? I thought you were supposed to be smart or something."

I scowl at him. "I've never heard of _butter_ being used on burns, Zachary."

"So you didn't know of its magical healing properties?" he asks, mildly surprised.

I stare at him, slightly incredulous, as he busies himself with finding a blunt knife in the drawer. " _Magical healing properties?_ " I manage to say after a while. "Are you for real?"

He straightens and twirls the butter knife in his hands, smirking. "Watch and learn, Curtains."

He peels back the foil on the butter and slices off a thin sliver, holding out his hand for my own. I eye it for a few seconds, before shrugging, turning the tap off and drying my hand on a tea towel. He takes my hand in his, a little warily, and I can't help but notice how well it fits over mine, encasing it in a warm cocoon. He picks up the butter off the knife with his fingers and then carefully starts rubbing it on my skin, smoothing it in and leaving a rather greasy patch. I'm about to scold him for getting my hands all oily, but I shut my mouth as I realise it's actually helping. The coolness of it, along with its questionable, but effective moisturising properties, soothes the burnt skin. I let out a small 'mmm' as the stinging lessens.

"Thanks," I say, giving an awkward cough.

"Told ya." He smirks, but his throat bobs and he doesn't meet my eyes as he continues massaging the butter around on each of my burnt fingers. I fight down the blush threatening to rise at his proximity, and take the opportunity to really look at him.

His eyes are lowered, concentrating on my hand, and his eyelashes are long and almost sooty, the bottom ones brushing the area below his eyes in a soft arc. His cheeks are sprayed with a faint spattering of freckles and because of his tilted head, his silky hair flops forward and tickles the tip of my nose. I realise that if he looked up right now, we'd be way too close. A subtle, woody scent reaches my nose, mingled with a sort of clean, fruity smell – probably from the shampoo he uses – and I hold my breath, trying not to inhale deeply, as he finishes with his makeshift ointment and stands back.

"Voilà, mademoiselle," he grins. His face is only inches away from my own, slightly above because of our height difference. I take a hurried step backward – but not before I see his green, green eyes drop to my pursed lips and flit hurriedly upwards again.

I look down at my hand, which is glistening in the light because of the butter, but feels much better. "Um, thanks," I mumble.

He coughs, once, twice, stepping back a few steps and messing up the back of his hair. "S'alright," he says gruffly.

I give him a shy smile.

"Should we, uh, get back to the panc–?"

But, it seems the food in question has had enough of our lack of attention. The smell hits my nose before I see the steadily rising disaster; the plume of smoke spirals towards the gleefully waiting smoke alarm on the ceiling above.

My mouths drops in horror and Zach looks at me in complete confusion and apprehension. Following my gaze, however, his own face blanches. He grimaces. "Oh, shit."

"Shit, indeed," I agree, panic building. "It's going to go off, Zach! I'm not ready to become a jailed delinquent!"

He snaps out of his rather horrified daze and frowns at me as he leaps into action, grabbing the pan off the stove and flinging it into the sink, and then seizing two tea towels off the worktop and throwing one at my face.

"Then quit moaning and help me, Curtains." All things considered, he seems pretty calm as he starts to violently flap his tea towel in the air to dissipate the smoke. "Open those windows!"

I hurry to the windows lining the far side of the room, trying to undo the clasps and push them open as fast as I can. Zach's mutterings reach me from here: "Shit, mom is going to kill me if this goes off." Despite the situation, I grin to myself. How positively lol-ish.

Once I've finally wrestled the windows open, I all but run back to the site of the pancake burning and find a relieved Zach leaning back against the worktop, dropping his tea towel behind him and sighing heavily as he glares at me reproachfully. I interrupt him before he can say anything.

"It's technically your fault. I told you I can't cook to save my life _and_ it was your idea to use the diner." I fold my arms, and then unfold them as I realise how much I look and sound like a five year-old.

He cracks a smile and shakes his head. "God, Curtains. I thought you were exaggerating, but it looks like you're more hopeless than I thought."

I scowl at him. "I'm not _hopeless_." He raises his eyebrows – 'oh, really?' – and chuckles.

I scowl even more deeply. "Stop _laughing_ , you jackass."

This only serves to make him laugh harder, and soon he's almost snorting. I try to fight the smile growing on my own face, but his laughter is infectious, completely transforming him from brooding bad boy to cute dork. A small, chewed-off smile makes its way onto my lips, and I groan.

"Ugh, why are you so _annoying_? Huh? Why?"

His laughter finally trails off and he smiles, a smug little smirk. His signature facial expression. "You only find me annoying because you _like_ me, Curtains. See, you're even going red." He gives me a winning look.

"No one in their right mind would like you, Goode," I say witheringly.

"Well, you're obviously not in your 'right mind' then, are you?"

"Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Zachy. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go home, okay?" I turn to walk to the door, but he stops me.

"Hey, wait a sec. We need to sort out my chemistry tutoring," he says, almost eagerly.

"Oh," I say glumly. "Well how about this Friday before my shift here? It starts at half seven this week so you can drive me to the diner, too. It's only fair," I grin.

He rolls his eyes. To be honest, I'm surprised he doesn't have strained eyeballs. "Alright, cheap-ass. I'll take you to work and I'll come over to your house on Friday at half six. One hour should be enough, right?"

"I hope so," I say.

"Okay then. I'll bring my books. Uh…" he looks away. "Do you want me to take you home now?"

I stare at him in surprise. "Um, yeah. Yeah, sure. Thanks."

"After you," he says, gesturing forwards.

"No, after _you_ , MasterChef," I mutter.

xxxxx

The doorbell rings just as I finish pulling on my pyjama pants.

"Coming, coming!" I yell.

I hurry downstairs and grab the keys off the hook, first checking to see who it is through the peep-hole. I smile when I see the familiar mop of sun-bleached blond.

"Hey, Adam!"

"Oh, hi!" he smiles, pushing up his glasses. I notice that he's wearing his baggy work clothes again and I can see his van parked by the sidewalk. He scans what I'm wearing and grins. "Captain America makes a reappearance, I see."

I strike a pose, one hand on my hip and the other stretched up to my head. "Too sexy, no?" He gives a non-comital grunt and looks down at his feet.

Maybe that was a little… forward. My cheeks warm. "Um, wanna come in?"

"Sure. I actually, uh, came to fix your curtains. I remember you told me when I came before… do you still need them fixing?"

I smile widely at him, unable to believe he even remembered. Those curtains have been giving me a lot of grief. "That's so sweet, Adam! Thanks!"

I step aside to let him in and he pauses, waiting for me to close the door. I lead him to the staircase and up to my room, slowing down slightly as I approach it. I didn't leave any bras lying around, did I? Pants? Anything embarrassing or compromising? Well, it's too late now.

I push the door open and wince as my eyes alight upon my upturned Hello Kitty bra sat on my bed. Luckily, he doesn't seem to have seen it yet, as he's too busy ogling my room, so I bound over to my bed and collapse on it, effectively covering the bra with my butt.

"Uh, I'll sit here and read while you sort that sorry mess out, 'kay?" I ask, watching him tear his eyes away from my bookcase, only to turn to my array of paints and easels.

"I can't decide if I should be jealous or impressed, Cammie," he smiles. "You have so many books! And you're so good at _painting_."

I duck my head – I don't normally let people see my work, if only because it's not finished or I'm not pleased with it, but I didn't get a chance to put it away, so I suck it up. "Thanks," I smile.

"Is that Michaela? And Blue? And _me_?"

Damn it. My cheeks blaze red, and I shift uncomfortably. I painted that after school when we'd all had History together, and I'd been itching to see if I could recreate the moment when Adam realised Michaela had cut a chunk of his hair off as payback for almost running her over back on the first day.

"That's, um, when –"

"When that pixie cut off my hair, right?" He looks at me, impressed. "You're seriously good, Cammie. It's amazing."

"Thank you," I mumble, fuddling with the fraying edge of my cushion.

He starts, fumbling with his toolbox. "So, anyway, curtains." I jump at the word before I realise he meant the object and not a stupid nickname. He walks over to them and lets out a low whistle. "What did you even do to them?"

"Oh, well… You see, I was…" He turns to look at me, raising an eyebrow.

"I was kinda standing in them and I stepped on the back of them and tripped so they came off the pole," I say quickly.

"Why were you…?" He shakes his head, laughing. "I don't even want to know."

I laugh weakly, too embarrassed to utter a word. And feeling slightly guilty as I remember what exactly I was doing, and how hurt Adam would be if he knew I'd been gawking at Zach.

xxxxx

"Hey, Cammie?" He ceases his hoisting of the material and sets down his screwdriver. "Can I… ask you a question?"

I sit up on my bed, putting down _Rebecca_ , almost done with the assigned chapter we were given. "Yeah, shoot," I say, enquiring.

He seems to gear himself up, rubbing the side of his face and pushing up his glasses at least three times. He takes a deep breath, cheeks tinged pink. "Dyawangooutwime?"

I sit up straighter. "Sorry, what? I don't think I… caught that."

He sighs, his face deepening in colour as he scratches the back of his neck and wraps a piece of string from the curtain material around his fingers. He looks up to meet my eyes. "I was just asking… do you want to go out? With me?"

My mouth drops open.

Did Adam just ask me on a _date_?

* * *

 **A/N It has been TOO LONG. I don't even know why I took so long with this. It just wouldn't come out! And I recently had mock exams, thirteen gruelling exams over a period of ONE WEEK. It was boring as hell but I got my results today, and thankfully, going without updating paid off and I did well! So that's good haha. And if any of you have midterms/mocks/any old exam, I feel for you. I really do.  
** **Anyway, I'll keep this short and skip over the unnecessary excuses.  
** **Hope you all had a fantastic Christmas and wonderful New Year! (Even though it was ages ago). Can you believe it's 2016? I can't. AT ALL.  
** **In other news: I want Leonardo DiCaprio to win an Oscar for The Revenant because he's Leo and I love him, and it's my birthdayyyyyy on Saturday! How old do you think I'll be turning? I'm interested to know!  
** **Hope you liked this chappie! Did ADAM JUST... Yas, he sure did.** **And Zammie alert** **;)**

* * *

 **BooksLover2000: Haha, well, it did involve ballerinas and cute Zach, but I thank you for reading it even though I took it down! (To be frank, I couldn't be bothered with it right now.)**

 **Archiepoke123: Thank you so much! That's so nice to hear. I'm glad it made you laugh! Hope you liked this one!**

 **GallagherGirls13BYE: Aw, thank you so much! Yes, I shall be introducing the whole number thing shortly. It actually slipped my mind but it's all fine, it still works haha. Thank you, and I hope all is great with you too! xx**

 **Selena: Thank youuuuu! Your review was so great! And yes haha, that is very true. We all have Divergent sections of our brain! Ooh, that sounds interesting! I will look into that. It would be so cool! I'll tell you my username if more like when I get it :)**

 **Guest 1: Yes same! :( I loved it though. And thank you!**

 **HippieGuru: Thank you gurl! Haha, that's quite alright, and just thank you! You're totally amazing. Love your reviews and they mean so damn much :)**

 **Guest 2: Haha, thank you! And I thought so too, if I do say so myself ;) I loved Star Wars so much, I need the DVD asap. Hope you had a good holiday!**

 **gabergirl: Thank you so much! And I hope you had a good holiday Christmas New Year!**

 **XxCandyygirlxX: Oh, thank you! I love to hear that :)**

 **fangirly662: Haha, thank you very much! Yes, stuff will be picking up, and I don't want you to get bored! Also #ihatepenny and thank you! I tried out a New Year's one-shot but I didn't give myself enough time for it to be very good, or to write a Christmas one. Maybe next time!**

 **YasssGurl: Haha omg, that is so cute! And I loved itttttt. I bought the original trilogy to watch, and I've seen the first one and it's so great. I need to watch the next two though! And thanks!**


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